


Iridescent

by PaigeK9



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, English, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5030419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeK9/pseuds/PaigeK9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>C-124. This was who he was. Rick C-124. He was gonna be better than all the other Ricks. He was gonna be smarter. But when he returns from his years of isolation to find his daughter, he ends up finding her son Morty. He would make sure he would be better too. Better like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rick C-124

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! first story in years~ Hope you enjoy! comment and like for more!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to all readers: This version is not nearly as good as the one I posted on Fanfiction.net. Ao3 doesn't save my italics or linebreaks, so it's a little messed up. If it really bothers you, feel free to visit the story on FF :)

Iridescent

Rick Sanchez was desperate. He paced back and forth, circling around the metal confines of his warehouse. He paused for a moment, trying to remember when he had begun to refer to this crap-shoot as his. The warehouse was rather large, but size did not make up for quality. The walls were rusted and almost paper-thin from erosion. The cement floors were cracked and stained with whatever experimental or illicit substance Rick had carelessly allowed to spill. An unkempt cot with a flat pillow and a threadbare blanket sat near the back wall; like a deserted island in a sea of all the wanton equipment, alcohol containers, and unimportant junk, that Rick had decided wasn't worth his time. Or had simply lost interest in. The more important objects worth his muddled attention for the time being, were mostly hidden under blue, black, or white tarps to protect from the rain. Because the ceiling leaked. A lot. Countless containers littered the floor: cups, vases, bowls, Tupperware, the occasional garbage can, and empty fast-food cartons. They're intent to catch the freezing rain that poured in during the planets frequent storms. They didn't do a very good job. There were so many leaks, Rick had given up on trying to isolate the water flow. He could come up with some crazy invention to fix the roof, but that required effort. Time he didn't see worth dedicating.

Rick finally sat down in his swivel chair, he had apparently finished his pacing. The chair was rolled up to his work table, next to his old space heater. The only source of heat on this God-forsaken planet. Rick was in a bind. The Galactic Federation was tracking him, and he was unable to find a way to hide his brain waves. There were far and few places he could hide. This crappy planet, Birdperson's nest, Squanchy's bunker, and the fucking Counsel of Ricks. He was forced to go to the Counsel every few days for food. Get in, get out. Ignore their shit.

He was designated as Rick from the universe C-124. His time line was a few years behind the others. Around five years to be exact. He was perturbed by one thing that kept the other Rick's disguised. An itch in the back of his head, a morbid curiosity about Mortys. It made him hesitate, remember the past. He didn't want to remember, that's why he drank it all away. Well, at least tried to. The other Rick's began their runs with Morty's soon after they turned thirteen. Approximately twenty years after they left Earth to fight in an intergalactic resistance.

It took them all twenty years to cope enough to return to the people they had forsaken. He still had five years to wallow in the depths of his self-pity. He stood, his white lab coat twisting behind him. He was better than those counsel pricks. He could do what they did faster. He was stronger. He didn't need anybody but himself. Rick's eyes traveled back to the desk, a shining flask perched atop it, right next to his portal gun. He snatched it up and took a swig of hard liquor, his mind pleasantly fogging with each sip. He didn't need anyone.

The swirling green portal opened up in an upscale neighborhood. Rick casually stepped onto the custom sidewalk. Taking a swig from his bottle, he shifted his eyes across the expanse that was unfolding before him. Cookie cutter homes lined the streets, each as normal and equally boring as the last. Lawns were perfectly manicured, rose bushes, petunias, lilies, and bluebells decorated the small flowerbeds that rested under all the windows. Each mailbox proudly displaying the family names, each porch had a number printed on the right-hand wooden supports. A white-picket-fence neighborhood if he ever saw one.

Rick glanced down at his DNA tracker. His Morty was waiting behind one of these doors. The device gave off annoying buzzes when he moved toward the signal. He would have made it different, He would have made it better. But he had to 'borrow' this one from the damned Counsel. From what he knew by eavesdropping on the inferior Ricks, his daughter Beth had married that dipshit boyfriend Jerry Smith. Well, At least in 90% of the other realities. They had two kids; Morty, obviously, and Summer. He thought his sweetie was smarter than he was. Love didn't exist. He took another long swig from his bottle. His marriage failed and he could make black holes. Another swig. If he couldn't make it work, then it was impossible.

Rick trailed through the yards, following the buzzing. His mind was rolling with unpleasant thoughts. He craned is neck. Stars lit the night sky, twinkling and lightening the darkness of space. It had been so long since he had seen Earth's sky. It was special to him for some reason. That said something considering he wasn't sentimental in the least. What had become of Beth? Who was Summer? What was his Morty like? That was a stupid thought. They were all the same. Idiotic shields that whined and cried and thought that they meant something. He finished nursing his drink, dropping the bottle in the yard he was crossing.

The house came into view. How old was this Morty? Nine? Yeah, according to the timeline he should be nine. Too young. Maybe if he got him started on missions early, he could be somewhat less dimwitted than the others. Maybe he wouldn't whine as much as the others. Less of a pain in my ass.

He hesitated, slowing his walk to a snails pace. Moving up the driveway. The steps he skipped, his lanky legs lifting him directly up onto the stoop. He knocked.

No answer.

He rapped loudly on the door with his fist.

Nothing.

"Goddammit, I was gone for fifteen years! Congatulations you bastards! Thanks for making me waste my valuable time, which I will never spend on you fuckers again, to come here and give up whats left of my miserable liOOUUGHHfe!"

Rick continued to yell for a while. His frustrations boiling over. He yelled at the house, cursed his ex-family, screamed his hurts to the world. He didn't particularly yell because they didn't answer his knocks, he yelled because of the unfairness of his situation. He eventually came down from his rage, leaning up against the door and sliding down to the ground. His eyes wandered to the overhead street-lamps and empty roads. Only then did he notice the garage was open, the car gone.

He was an idiot. They weren't home. Great, now the neighbors were probably calling the police.

Rick quickly stumbled to his feet, still a little buzzed, and pulled out his disintegrater gun. He switched the ray to low and carved out the doorknob. Beth would forgive him, at least he hoped she would.

Rick entered the medium-sized house. He flipped the light on and dropped his tracker on to a low coffee table. The kids must be asleep he thought. Beth and Jerry on a date or something. He preferred the 'or something'. He was surprised the screaming hadn't woke them.

Rick moved from room to room, taking in all of the details. There were only two bedrooms, which he though was odd, they had two kids, and they where well-off from what he could tell.

Rick examined the first one. It had black studio carpeting with modern gray walls. A queen sized bed sat under the large bay windows with silver stars embroidered on the black curtains. An expensive black comforter and memory foam pillows were atop the bed. Against the far wall was a mahogany dresser with black handles. He didn't bother with what he assumed was a bathroom off the the left. Next to the bed was a smaller bedside dresser with an odd starry lamp decorating it. Rick moved to the lamp and switched it on. The room erupted with blue stars, the lamp slowly rotating. Rick turned off the bedroom light to get a better view.

Bright blue stars rotated throughout the room. He wondered why Beth would have a child's lamp inside her room. She did have a nine year old son.

And a husband with the same mental capacity.

He flipped the switch off and moved to the next room, skipping the second bedroom, because he assumed that the children would not appreciate a strange, semi-drunk, old man barging in.

The living room had beautiful cherry hardwood floors and clean white walls. The back wall was host to a large flat-screen television. In front of it rested a large black leather couch, under it a white, furry carpet. Must be a bitch to keep clean. There was an black cloth recliner to the left and a beautiful upholstered rocking chair to the right. A sound system between the two bedroom doors.

He quickly became bored and moved to the kitchen, hoping to find some booze.

The kitchen followed the same bland theme of black and white. The counter-tops were made from black granite, cherry wood made up the base. The floors still the same cherry hardwood, the walls a welcoming sky blue. The kitchen was decked out with all the newest appliances. Microwave, stove, blender, fridge, etc. All in black, of course. Damn, Beth had become boring.

Rick moved to the fridge and opened the door. A cool bast of air pushing past his face. His eyes scanned the contents, quickly zoning in on some cans of beer. He helped himself to a can, downing it in less than a minute, then moving to get another that he sipped at a slower pace. He granted himself a break. Leaning against the island counter, numbing his slowly returning mind into oblivion.

His head turned toward an archway that led to a large dining room. Another cherry-wood room. The table and chairs following the theme that was becoming annoying to Rick.

It was too vanilla. Too boring. He realized how much he missed traversing space. It left a pit in his chest that he drowned with the rest of his beer. He couldn't wait to get his Morty and do whatever the hell he wanted again. What did he want though? What would make him happy? Rick opened another beer.

Some time later, him mind quiet and numb, he moved to the final room. Well, aside from the basement, attic, and garage. It was a large bathroom with the floors were made from swirling, light brown tiles, and the walls a coffee color. At least some change in scenery. The tub, sink and toilet, were deep ebony black with golden taps. A blue and white towel hung from a rack at the foot of the tub. A white wardrobe stood alone against the far wall. The shower curtain was blue with white stars. It seemed to be a recurring pattern throughout the house. It stood out more than the black and white.

Rick didn't dwell on it. He used the bathroom and moved back into the living room to wait for his daughter. He sat on the couch and began to drift off. His last thoughts were, it they had two kids, why weren't there any toys laying around?

The sun filtered through white curtains, waking Rick from his light sleep. Rick groaned, and moved to the kitchen to get another beer. He idly sipped his beer and wondered why Beth and her dumbfuck husband weren't home yet. The kids would be waking up soon, and he didn't want to deal with that. He barely survived Beth's childhood. A memory of Beth with her pigtails and overalls flashed across his mind. He nursed his beer in silence.

Rick heard a car pull into the driveway and he moved to the front door. Anticipation swelled inside his stomach. Adrenaline kicking in. Millions of thoughts raced through his brain as the door slowly opened, the knob still gutted from the previous night.

Rick came face to face with an older version of the once young Jerry Smith.

They locked eyes and stared for a moment, recognition slowly building in Jerry's face.

"R-rick?" He hesitantly questioned.

Rick looked down his nose at him "Who elOOUUGHHse asswipe," it was said as more as a statement, not a question. Jerry squirmed under his glare, trying to find the words to respond.

"Why are you here Rick, you vanished like ten years ago?"Jerry stared back at Rick, looking him up and down. "You broke into my house!?" He accused.

Rick looked disinterested as he answered, peering behind Jerry for signs of Beth. "Lookin for my dauOOUUGHHghter, heard she had kids, settled down with your ass."

Jerry paused as Rick's eyes moved back to him. "Rick," another pause. "Beth is gone, she-she committed suicide four years ago..."

Rick's entire body stiffened, his eyes widening. It took a lot to surprise Rick and it was near impossible to hurt him. But felt as if the ground had been pulled out from beneath him. His heart tightening in a way it hadn't since he began to numb himself.

His body gradually relaxed as he came down from his shock. His eyes feigned disinterest, obscuring the turmoil that raged inside him. "Where's the kids," he asked numbly.

Jerry's face became stoic, "Beth had an abortion when she was seventeen. We had no other kids." Jerry refused to make eye contact during his explanation.

Liar. Rick was too good at the game to be lied to. His tracker had picked up Morty's DNA inside the house. He was in no mood for this shit. Rick lunged, grabbing Jerry by the lapels of his green polo, and pushing him up against the wall, his feet not touching the cement. "Do. Not. Lie. To. Me." He popped each word, making his slur as clear as possible. "I'm not stupid like you, and if you don't tell me were they are right now," fumbling in his coat with one hand, he pulled out his disintegrater and shoved the barrel under Jerry's chin, "You're gonna end up like the fucking doorknob!" His voice rising with every word.

Jerry tried to turn his head but failed. Staring into the enraged eyes of the older man. He seemed to gain a smudge of courage as he spoke. "Why do you care! You left for ten years!" He yelled back.

Rick grinded the gun into Jerry's chin, pressing him harder against the wall. "For one, it was fifteen years, and two, if you don't tell me where they are right now I'll kill you and get them myOOUUGHHself!" His patience was growing dangerously thin.

"Okay, okay, just set me down," he pleaded. Rick lowered him to the ground, but didn't let go of his shirt. Jerry sighed and nervously continued. "Beth did get an abortion with our first baby, we weren't ready for the responsibility," he confessed, eyes scanning the ground. "Our second was planned. We named him Morty. After he was born, Beth fell into post-pardom depression. She never managed to pull herself out of it and eventually overdosed on her anti-depressants." Jerry recounted the events with a strange scorn that Rick couldn't place. Rick eyed Jerry suspiciously.

"If you want to see him, I redid the basement as a bedroom for him." Jerry looked up at Rick. Rick was skeptic. "He wanted a cool bedroom, you know how kids are these days," Jerry tried.

Rick snorted "No not reaOOUUGHHlly." Something nagged him at the back of his mind, something seemed very wrong here. What single parent leaves a nine year old home alone all night, has no evidence a child lives in the home, and what child doesn't make a peep.

Rick turned and headed back into the house, intent on finding his only grandchild, the shock of Beth's demise distorting his reason. As he moved though the living room, he heard the car door slam and the car peel out of the driveway.

He was too stunned to stop and contemplate why. Why someone would leave their child, why Jerry was so evasive, why things were so strange.

Rick reached the basement door and threw it open. His hand only resting on the doorknob for half a second. The room was pitch black, save for a small sliver of light that may have come from a small basement window down the creaky wooden stairs. A gust of stale air hit him. It smelt of human body odor, urine, and the faint smell of coppery blood.

He took the stairs two at a time, the stench growing overwhelming. When he reached the bottom he felt the wall for a light switch. Click. The room erupted in a misty light from a bare light bulb that hung from a flimsy wire connected to the ceiling.

Curled under the stairs, filthy, hurt and terrified; was his Morty.


	2. Of Monsters and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't take the time to look through and edit this chapter. So mistakes are probably apparent. I hope you enjoy!

Of Monsters and Men

Morty couldn't remember what his mother looked like. He only remembered that she was the person who kept everything from falling apart. He remembered her warmth and happiness and love. One day she was there, the next she was gone forever.

The day of the funeral his father was a mess. Screaming and breaking whatever he could get his hands on. It didn't matter if it was the dishes or toys. It was all up for grabs. Morty and Summer hid in his sister's bedroom closet until their father calmed himself. Summer hugged him and whispered nonsense promises that made him feel better. Her presence a beacon in the oncoming storm.

He didn't know what was coming back then. If he did, he would have run. With or without his sister.

Morty vaguely remembered his sister. He pictured her with long, curly, red hair. He remembered how his sister hated her hair. How his mother would spend mornings straightening it to make his sister feel somewhat better. Morty recalled how his mother had loved the red curls so much that she couldn't bring herself to dye it. Only straighten it. Summer always wore beautiful sundresses with a bright bow tied in her hair. Morty couldn't really bring any of the dresses into his memory. Save for the bright cerulean dress that was embroidered with kittens. Maybe he remembered it because of how frequently she would wear it.

Summer loved that dress. She would wear it whenever she was given the opportunity. It was always worn with her huge kitten bow tied neatly in her hair. The bow was a slightly darker blue than the dress and it had two orange cats stitched on each loop. The cats had big white smiles, displaying perfectly set teeth. Her socks were either the white stockings with rainbow colored outlines of butterflies, or matching blue with lighter paw-prints. Summer liked to wear her blue sneakers, decorated with the silhouettes of the orange, smiling cats. They had come with that ridiculously cute bow.

Morty had gotten shoes from the same designer. His were the parallel of Summer's. They were also white sneakers, but they had orange dinosaurs. Each foot had a dinosaur head with rounded teeth pretending to eat the shoe from the toes. They made Morty happy.

But today there was no room for joy. They were going to their mother's funeral. Summer wore a black dress, her long hair curly without their mother to straighten it, and shiny, black mary janes. Morty was wearing his black suit. He didn't have fancy shoes, so he had to wear his dinosaur sneakers. Jerry eventually calmed down and ushered them out of the closet, then into the car. Summer never let go of his hand.

Morty didn't remember anything that happened during the funeral. He was too young to understand death, so the memory quickly slipped from his mind. He would learn what death was on his own, and it would be uniquely tragic. They would go home that evening, and everything in Morty's fragile world would be forever changed.

The next morning, Morty's dad would call Grandma to take them away. But Grandma didn't have the resources to take care of two young children. She was financially stable, but she was just too old to offer to take both of them. So Summer went away and Morty stayed. He only found solace in the parting, years later, when he looked back and realized it could have been her. She could have been in the same hell he was forced to endure. He was content that he saved Summer from this pain.

Dad loaded Summers bag into Grandma's van, and Morty cried the entire time. He would cling to Summer throughout the ordeal, begging her not to leave him. He had just lost his mother, he had thought that he couldn't survive losing Summer too. Morty would soon be surprised with what he could survive. His father had to literally pry him loose from his sister so that they could leave.

If he knew that this was the last time he would see his beloved sister, he would have held on. He would have fought with everything he had. Morty watched the van drive away, his sister waving goodbye from the back seat. He could tell that Summer was barely holding back her own tears. She stayed strong for him.

The next day Morty's father had bought a furnished home a few miles away. Morty knew his father was rich. His dad would always brag about his job and offer to come into school, to tell the students about his success in corporate marketing. He came up with slogans for all the mainstream companies throughout the country. Morty used to idolize his dad, the man who's commercials popped up in between his cartoons. Morty couldn't believe how ignorant he was.

About a week later the house was deemed 'move in ready', and Jerry took his son to the house. On the way there they stopped at the market for Jerry to pick up some bread, a block of cheddar cheese, and a gallon of milk. Morty sat in the back seat, eyeing the two pairs of day clothes and two pairs of pajamas that sat adjacent to his car seat. Morty wondered where he was being taken, but remained silent during the short drive. Things seemed off to the five year old, but he was smart enough not to voice his concerns. One of these oddities was how Jerry didn't bother to buckle him into his booster seat. Their parents never forgot to buckle them in, and this minuscule action grated on Morty's nerves.

They arrived at the house, and he slid from the back seat after his father opened his door. Morty took the exterior of the house in. It was about half the size of the two-story home he grew up in, the paneling a dark gray. The door was a mahogany that matched the windowsills, the roof a coal color. As Jerry fumbled with the new keys at the door, Morty bent over the flowerbed to get a better look. The flowers were a pretty purple. He wasn't very knowledgeable in flowers like his sister, so he couldn't even begin to imagine what they were.

The door finally squealed as it was pushed backwards. Jerry stepped into the house, Morty following close behind. Without a word Jerry moved to a shiny, black fridge and dropped the white plastic bag of food on the bottom shelf, along with the gallon of milk. Jerry straightened himself out, his spine giving an audible pop.

Morty's father turned to him, an exasperated look on his face. "Morty," he jumped at the break in the silence, "You're going to stay here for a while, while daddy tries to figure out what he's supposed to do." Jerry sighed. "It'll be like a sleepover, just all by yourself." Jerry did not sound very enthusiastic, and that put Morty on edge.

Jerry sidestepped Morty, heading back out to the car. He retrieved Morty's clothes and gently set them down on the sidewalk. Morty lingered in the doorway, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. His father moved to stand in front of him, looking down, emotionless.

"do you have any questions," he asked in a bored voice.

Of course Morty had questions, so many questions. But he was scared to vocalize them. Morty's speech impediment became more severe with stress, and he was afraid if he were to speak, all that would come out would be a jumbled mess of stutters. Morty shook his head.

"Just stay inside Morty, and remember, do not go outside. No matter what, or you'll be in big trouble mister." Jerry warned seriously. Without a second glance, Jerry got into the car, and left him standing alone on the sidewalk.

Over the next few weeks, Morty fell into his own routine. He would wake up in his bed, turn off his starry lamp, and then go to the bathroom. After brushing his teeth, he would get dressed in one of his three pairs of day clothes. They had long since become dirty and smelled of filth, but Morty was five, he had didn't have the mental capabilities needed to know how to wash clothes.

Morty would move on to the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Once a week his father would bring a loaf of bread, a block of cheese and milk. Sometimes it was a gallon, other times it was a small carton. He learned to ration food for fear of running out, like the first week. Morty tried to limit himself to a slice of cheese and bread for breakfast, with a large glass of tap water. For lunch he would only drink water, it seemed to help curb the pangs of hunger. It didn't really do much. For dinner, another slice of bread and cheese, along with a heavy glass of milk. He waited all day for that milk, anticipating the feeling of a substantial heaviness weighing in on his stomach.

After his breakfast he would usually go to sleep. He learned that sleeping kept the hunger at bay, and he had no toys to occupy himself with. When he woke up he would eat, then repeat the process until seven. When evening came he would take a bath, albeit one without soap, then get changed into his pajamas. Morty would finally brush his teeth and go to bed. Falling asleep to the blue stars that lit up his room.

The loneliness hurt more than the hunger. Sometimes, when it became too much, he would lay in bed crying. Morty would wish for his mother to come back, to fix all the wrongs that plagued his existence. He would sit awake, waiting for his mama to come rushing though the door, and make everything better. To go home and eat all he wanted, to have his sister back, to have his dad love him again. The wishes never came true, and with each unanswered prayer, Morty became more independent. He became more self-reliant. Because if God couldn't help him, he'd have to help himself.

Time passed and one day Morty looked at himself in the bathroom's full-body mirror. His ribs were visible through his skin, his hips protruding from his sides. He had become painfully thin. Morty decided he would have to leave the house for food today. Morty decided to wait until the middle of the night to venture out. Less people would see him that way.

When nightfall came he left the house for the first time in weeks. You could never understand the simple gift of grass and the moon and the wind, until its ripped away. Morty admired the night sky for a few minutes, before the pangs of hunger forced him to the neighbor's garbage. His hands ghosted over the lid, as he nervously watched the house for signs that the inhabitants would suddenly wake up and come after him.

When nothing happened, he gingerly lifted the lid open. He tore the bag open when the ties refused to cooperate. He ate in silence.

A week passed and Morty learned what to expect from his neighbors. The neighbor to the right was a big eater. He was also very wasteful. Half eaten boxes of pizza and other forms of fast-food always filled the can. Morty always visited this house first. The neighbor on the left he visited second. The garbage usually has random tidbits of healthy foods. Partially eaten salads and fruit castoffs were most common. He would sit and suck on the cores and skins of the fruit; his body screaming for vitamins. The last garbage can he visited was the neighbor's, across the road. Morty guesses it was an old woman, because most of the contents in the can were inedible. She had cats, and the litter destroyed what little the woman threw away.

Morty continued his nightly rituals, until he contacted food poisoning from eating expired food. He had curled up next to the toilet, heaving so hard, he had felt like he was going to die from the pain. It passed after a few days. His father was dropping off his weekly rations, when he came across the deathly ill Morty. Jerry had looked down on his violently ill son; who was sobbing in a puddle of stomach acid. He walked right back out of the house and drove away.

Morty learned another lesson that day. That he could only count on himself to stay alive. No adult was going to help him, no wishes were going to make it better, and God was busy helping people who prayed harder than he did. After he recovered from his sickness, Morty knew that he had to find a safer source of food. The food he had been relying on was too old to be trusted, a restaurant dumpster would be safer.

The next night he had slipped his dinosaur sneakers on and ventured down the sidewalk. The streetlamps lit his path as he began his quest for food. He eyed each house, observing the familiar exteriors and neat yards. A strange homeless man had stumbled from out of an alley, alcohol strong on his person. Morty ran away as the man shouted obscenities at his retreating form.

Morty finally found an Italian restaurant at the edge of town. Above the sliding class doors was a neon sign, it read ABRUSSO'S in cursive lettering. He moved to the large glass windows to peek inside. Standing on his tiptoes he was able to see a luxurious interior, fancy people enjoying their nights out. He envied them, but he would never admit it. Maybe his sin of envy was the reason God wouldn't help him. Maybe he was too greedy. There were a lot of 'maybes'. Morty made his way to the dark green dumpsters out back, he had to stand on some cinder blocks to gain leverage on the heavy lid.

Morty dug through the trash, finding hot and lukewarm bags of pasta. He ate spaghetti, and scraps of meatball subs. Savoring each handful of the first warm food he'd had in weeks. After he was finished he sat by the dumpster for a while. Something inside his chest stirred. Morty looked at the dumpster and then to his mucked up hands. He felt something no child should ever experience. Shame.

Morty continued to visit the dumpster every few days. He would visit it every night, but it was four miles there, and four miles back. He would often find Styrofoam boxes in the dumpster, he would use them to carry leftovers home to save for the next day. Morty had made some friends along the way. Not human friends, animals.

Some local animals had become attracted to him, after Morty began to share his spoils with them. There was a stray dog, two raccoons, and a large brown and white rat. He spent a good chunk of time naming them. He named the raccoons Orion and Dipper, after the constellations. The dog he named Rocket, and the rat was deemed Moony. Each was named after the night sky. His mother had loved the night sky. She taught him everything she knew. He didn't know why she loved it so much, but his father sometimes whispered beneath his breath about a man named Rick.

When the reality of his situation became overwhelming he would lean against the dumpster and sob. People that left the restaurant never stopped to comfort him. He secretly wished that they would. Morty had already learned people couldn't be counted on. During these episodes Rocket would let him hug him. Morty's arms would rap around his greasy scruff, and Rocket would lick the tears away. When he was sad the raccoons would let Morty hold them in his lap. They were funny and pulled at his hair with their tiny hands. He didn't mind. Even Moony allowed him to cup him in his palms after awhile. Morty would watch the rat with fascination, as it ate bits of food while sitting upright. Morty loved them all.

Morty learned to become careful when he went on his nighttime escapades. Strange men in cars would stop and offer him candy to come with them. Sometimes he was tempted, but ran away nonetheless. The only people that payed attention to him were the ones that wanted to hurt him.

The weather became cold, and Morty could see his breath in the night. He didn't have a coat, all he had were the clothes that he was given the day Jerry dropped him off. Yesterday when he went to the dumpster, the food was embedded with ice shards. The flavor was so vile, he only managed a few bites before his stomach protested. Orion and Dipper hadn't shown up in a few days, and that really worried Morty. A week ago Rocket dissapeared. Morty had later spotted him, clean and sporting a nice red collar. He found a home and Morty knew he had to let go. Rocket was given a chance at a better life without him. Morty didn't have the heart to ruin that.

As he trotted up to the dumpster, he spotted Moony, curled up, sleeping peacefully. Morty smiled and went to pick his friend up. His finger wound around the rat, when he finally felt the cold stiffness in the rat's body. The five-year old desperately tried to wake the rat, but to no avail. Moony had died. He was alone again. Morty cried until he couldn't cry anymore, his heart tearing itself to shreds. When his mother died he didn't understand death. But now he did. And he realized she was never coming back. Just like his rat Moony.

He walked home with Moony cradled to his chest. Silent tears running down his face. Morty waited for morning on the front steps, thanking Moony for all the love he had given. It was broad daylight when he buried Moony in the front yard. Some people stopped and stared, but he was beyond the point of caring who saw him. All that mattered was his only remaining friend.

That afternoon Morty was jolted out of sleep from the front door slamming hard enough to shake the foundation. His father knew. What happened next was gone from his memory. The small bits he remembered were of his father screaming at him and then locking him in the dark basement. Morty would have ran if he knew that the basement would become his own personal hell. He would have ran like he did from the strangers that stalked him in the night. This hell would become his home for almost four years.

The basement was dark and Morty had to feel for the toilet and sink when he had to go to the bathroom. His father visited every day now. Jerry stopped in to throw a can down the steps before leaving. Turning the light on wasn't allowed, so Morty felt along the floor for his daily can of food. Jerry said that people food was too expensive, so Morty ate either cat food or dog food. Morty liked the dog food better, the meat was often dripping with gravy that hid the flavor, and the cans were much bigger that the cat food tins. His hands finally brushed cool metal.

A can of cat food. Morty sighed in resignation. He quickly pulled the tab open and dug into his meal with his dirty fingers. Tasting the chewy bits of substitute fish and the faint dirt that caked his hands. He finished and curled up on his blanket, the only thing protecting him from the cold cement floor. A ray of lone sunlight peeked through the basement window, and Morty took this chance to admire his dinosaur sneakers.

When things got especially bad, Morty would stare at the orange cartoons. They made him happy, and helped to anchor him to the outside world. When Morty began to think things could get better, they always became a whole lot worse.

It started when Jerry invited a strange man to the basement. Morty watched a brief exchange of money, and then the door shut then thing went to hell. The strange man made his way down the stairs and then had beaten Morty unconscious. He didn't stop when Morty screamed, or begged, or cried. There was no mercy. Morty learned mercy was an illusion, something that people picked and chose to give to others they wanted something from. Morty also learned that his father was renting him out to people that wanted to vent their frustrations. Or sexual perversions. But that was later.

When he had healed, his father would find another 'client' who wanted to take their anger out on a little kid. Soon they brought whips and car batteries to inflict more pain. His screams egged them on, so when he stopped screaming, they'd find a new instrument of torture. His father didn't watch or interfere; as long as these people didn't damage him permanently, or kill him, they were left to do as they pleased.

Time passed at a snail's pace, in Morty's brutal existence. Jerry came down into the basement one day, Morty was too weak to lift his head, so he stared at his father's shoes and blue jeans. This was a new development, Jerry never visited him. Not ever.

Jerry moved to the corner of the room and hooked up a hose to the facet of the sink. From there he hosed Morty down with the freezing water. Morty stayed silent during the shower. The cold water rinsing away the dirt and blood. Morty couldn't look at his father, the man who had betrayed him so hurtfully. The man he had loved and looked up to. So Morty watched the dirty water flow down a drain that was melded into the concrete in the center of the room. The bath ended too soon. Jerry turning off the lights and leaving him in the unforgiving darkness. It bothered him that Jerry had so suddenly changed their unspoken routine. It made him uneasy. He was rightfully so.

That night a man came to the basement. There was no beating this time, but the things that were done to him, haunted Morty. These things made him feel dirty. The things that he was forced to do destroyed his soul. He learned to pray for the beatings. They were better than those things.

He knew when these things were going to happen, because Jerry would come to hose him off beforehand. Morty liked the baths, but they never seemed to make him feel clean anymore. He didn't think anything would make him feel clean anymore. Morty would soon develop an aversion to water. Water meant the impending agony that the men would inflict upon his body, and his young mind. Morty's trepidation was cemented when a particularly angry man had tried to drown him in the toilet after Morty had bit his privates. Jerry heard the commotion and kicked the man out. Morty had looked to his father one final time for some sort of sympathy. Jerry had screamed at him and threatened to have someone knock his teeth out with a hammer if he did anything like that again.

Morty wasn't scared of his father anymore. He knew his father was a coward. If his father was in his position, Morty didn't doubt he would fold under the pressure and kill himself. Jerry didn't have the balls to hurt Morty himself, so he got other people to do it for him. He was too ashamed to spend time in Morty's presence. Too weak to move on after Beth's death. Jerry disgusted Morty more than he disgusted himself.

Morty's breaking point came after another night of rape. The pain in his bottom was intense and he needed something to anchor his emotions to the ground. He crawled to the corner of the basement to look at his dinosaur sneakers. He slowly lifted them to the light, like a prized piece of jewelry. His heart sunk when the light hit his shoes. Blood had coated his cartoon dinosaurs, leaving their happy faces forever obscured.

It hurt so much. More than anything he experienced in his young life. More than the deaths, the hunger, his family's collapse, the beatings, the rape. It symbolized the loss of his innocence. They were the only things that existed before his life was ripped away. For the final time in his young life, he cried. His mind lost in the ignorance of animalistic desire.

A man came down to the basement today. It was odd; people didn't come during the day. Morty didn't like odd. Odd was when he was abandoned, odd was the day before the rapes began. He closed his eyes for a minute, listening to the footsteps get closer. When they stopped he looked up at the man. He was older, his hair sticking out in every which way. He sported a long white trench coat and light brown slacks. His shoes a shiny black. His shirt was a light blue. Morty liked the color, it reminded him of the sky.

The man looked down at him with half lidded eyes. Morty couldn't determine his intentions. That bothered him, people's intentions were usually painted on their expressions. This man's face was blank. It wasn't going to be sexual, because Jerry hadn't come down to hose him off today. Morty watched the man wearily as he took a flask from his pocket and popped the lid open. The man took a swig from the flask, not taking his eyes off Morty. Morty knew bad things happened when people drank, so he pushed himself deeper into the corner.

The man tilted his head, before putting his hands in his pockets. "Damn, Jerry fucked you up. Didn't thiOOUUGHHnk he'd have the nuts to do something like this," he gestured to Morty's general area. "We got a lot of work to do kid. Places to be, things to doOOUUGHH. Ya know, the works." He moved much faster than Morty thought was possible. Quickly scooping him up and moving towards the stairs. "But first we gotta fix you up Morty, real goOOUUGHHod Morty. Grandpa's gonna make ya all better, okay?" He looked down at the child in his arms. Much too small to be a nine-year old. More like six.

Morty nodded mutely. He didn't know what was happening, and his isolation had vastly distorted his sense of language, but he nodded anyways. His life would change that day. This time for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to MaddySan5926, Jimelda and Syb3rStrife for commenting! Review and like for more! Suggestions are always welcome!


	3. Sobering Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoys the newest chapter! Likes and reviews are appreciated. If you have any suggestion about what you want featured in this story, feel free to ask:)
> 
> Note to all readers: This version is not nearly as good as the one I posted on Fanfiction.net. Ao3 doesn't save my italics or linebreaks, so it's a little messed up. If it really bothers you, feel free to visit the story on FF :)

Sobering Revelations

As Rick moved up the stairs, he wondered what he was getting himself into. Morty didn't make a sound, his body lighter than air in Rick's arms. What was he getting himself into? What Rick would give to backtrack and wait another five years in the warehouse. At this point it seemed like a better option than this. This Morty was broken and probably useless. What use would this Morty be if Rick had to haul him around through his escapades? This Morty would hinder his plans; set him back. Rick didn't like being held up. Rick had no patience.

Rick seriously contemplated going back to the Counsel of Ricks to request another Morty. But this Morty had to be dead to do that, and Rick decided that going and groveling before the Counsel was not worth another equally idiotic Morty. He pushed the thought out of his mind, looking down at the child in his arms. Wide, fearful eyes stared back at him. They seemed too wide to be real, a broken sense of innocence lighting the vast expanses.

What had this kid been through? Rick didn't want to think about it, but he didn't have the leverage to shift Morty enough to reach into his coat for his flask. Rick sighed as they reached the top of the stairs. The light allowing him to see the damage that was hidden by the murky darkness of the basement.

Morty was filthy. His body had a layer of dark grime that obscured all visible skin. He only wore a pair of dirty underwear, the smell of urine and human filth overwhelming. There were a few open wounds that were swirling with dirt. Rick was surprised that they weren't infected. He'd have to clean them out as soon as he had the time. Morty's hair was past his shoulders in a matted mop of caked-in mud. Rick would have to find some scissors to cut the mats out. Another bothersome chore. Morty was emaciated. Each rib sticking out, his hips protruding grotesquely. His arms and legs seemed thin enough to snap like twigs, his face gaunt like a skeleton's. Rick had no idea how this kid was still alive.

Rick reached the kitchen and sat Morty down on the floor gently. Although he would never admit it. He immediately reached for his flask to take a drink, only to find it empty. He must have finished it up in the basement. Rick cursed under his breath and moved to the fridge; Morty's eyes following his every move. Rick already knew that he had finished the last of the beer up earlier, but that wasn't what he was looking for. His eyes scanned the scantly filled shelves, until he decided on some milk. He glanced at the date and moved the gallon to the counter.

Rick then opened the overhead cabinets, searching for something suitable for Morty to drink from. He quickly discarded the idea of using an open-rimmed cup. He doubted that the kid could handle one without spilling the liquid everywhere. He didn't need another mess to clean up. He already had enough to deal with as it was.

Rick grunted as he slammed the cabinet door shut as hard as he could. Morty jumped and quietly curled in on himself, visibly shaking. Rick sighed and ran a hand down his face. How was he supposed to deal with this? Sure, he was much better than all the other Ricks, but he doubted he had the humanity needed to fix this mess. When he got his hands on Jerry, he was gonna make sure that he suffered in unimaginable ways. Rick smiled to himself, thinking of all the things he was gonna do to Jerry. Making a mental note of all the hellish planets he'd come across, he moved to the strainer that was set in the right half of the sink.

Inside the strainer was a transparent, red sports bottle. It had the logo 'Hungry for Apples?'. That was a stupid slogan, Rick mused. He unscrewed the lid and filled the bottle up halfway with the milk, the other half he watered down with the tap. Rick was careful with what he was to give Morty; too much could send him into caloric shock, or at least make him vomit. Rick was still not in the mood for a mess.

He hoped that the mixture was watered down enough. It should be. Rick had been to countless planets with starving inhabitants, so he sort of knew what to give when it came to a meal. 'Sort of' being the key phrase. Rick nonchalantly screwed the cap back on, making sure it was tight enough to prevent leaks.

Rick approached Morty, with the bottle held loosely in between his fingers. As he crouched to the kid's level, extending his arm to give him the bottle; Morty violently flinched away. Rick gave an annoyed groan. "Morty, you either take this bottle by choice, or I can hold you down and force you to drink it. Don't think I haven't done it before." It came out a lot softer than he meant, and Morty seemed to comprehend the tone. Morty uncovered his face that was buried within his hands, and hesitantly reached for the bottle. Rick rolled his eyes, his patience growing thinner as he became more sober, pushed the bottle into Morty's outstretched fingers. Using his other hand to press Morty's fingers securely around the bottle. Rick gave Morty a jerky nod.

They locked eyes for a second. Morty's eyes questioning and confused. Rick rose from his crouched position and headed for a nearby wall. Rick reached into his pocket to pull out his portal gun. He had to return to his warehouse to retrieve his space phone. Rick had people to call.

Morty watched as the strange man pulled out some sort of gun. It reminded him of the toys he would see scattered across the various lawns of the neighborhood a long time ago. He shook the memory from his head and observed curiously. The man seemed to fumble with the device for a minute, before he pointed it at the wall and pulled the trigger.

Morty gasped as a green portal erupted from the plain wall. The man must have heard him, because he turned back to look down on his form. The man had one eye quirked and a frown marring his face as he spoke. "Morty, ya better drink that shit. Have it allllllllll gone before I get back Morty. I don't really give a fuck whether or not you can understand me, but you better have it gone. Can't have a dead kid on my hands Morty. Not after all the effort I'm putting in to keep your sorry ass alive."

One moment the man was there, the next he had vanished through the portal. Leaving Morty alone in the house.

Morty didn't mind being alone anymore. Loneliness was better than being in the company of someone, who may or may not want to hurt him. Morty didn't like when he couldn't determine someones intentions. He would rather know if someone was going to outright hurt him, than leaving it up to chance.

He tried to figure out what was going on. Jerry was usually here by this time of the day to feed him. But he hadn't shown up. The strange man did, stealing him away from the basement. Morty idly wondered if the man was a police officer. He couldn't really remember what a police officer was, but he did recall that he had screamed himself hoarse a long time ago, when he was first trapped inside the basement, for a police officer to take him away.

Morty stared down at the bottle. It was filled with milk; he had watched the man take the gallon from the fridge and fill it. He couldn't remember what milk tasted like, but a little nostalgia was present in the back of his mind. Morty thought that he used to like milk in the before time. Before he went to live in the basement. He brought the red bottle to his lips and sucked at the tip.

Morty decided that milk was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

Rick searched through piles, upon piles of junk; cursing to high heaven the entire time. Where the hell did he put that damned phone? Rick was irritation was borderline rage. He was becoming sober and it was pushing his psych deeper into the darkness. After flipping a particularly expensive invention into a puddle of water, Rick finally spotted his phone. It was lying innocently on his workbench. Rick tilted his head back and let out a loud yell of frustration.

How could being sober make him any less coordinated than when he was drunk off his ass? Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Maybe it was the condition of the kid that was making him so antsy. Morty was at death's door, singing Christmas carols. He stomped up to the bench and snatched the phone, dialing one of the many numbers he had committed to memory.

The receiver rang a few times, Rick's foot impatiently tapping the floor. Come on, come on, come on. The rings on the other line gave way to Birdperson's voice. "Hello, this is Birdperson speaking," Rick sighed in relief.

"Yeah, Birdpeson. This is Rick, I have a little favor to ask you." He paused, awaiting Birdperson's response.

"Greetings Rick. I hope you've been doing well. How may I be of service?" Birdperson always understood. He never asked questions or judged Rick. Never told him what to do.

"Birdperson, I need you to listen carefully. I have a situation on Earth, Coordinates 33612412300100. It's nothing major, but I need you to get me some clothes from one of your nephews or nieces. Anything that would fit a six-year old. Maybe even five. I promise I'll pay you back as soon as you get here." Rick concluded.

"Anything Rick. Birdperson is indebted to se-"

"I know, I know... all that ancient bull-crap that sounds really cool the first dozen or so times. But you, you know that it gets old reeeeeeeeeal fast." Rick interjected. "Just try to hurry up."

Rick hung up then set his mind on contacting Squanchy.

After hanging up with Squanchy, Rick all but fell into his old swivel chair. He stared at the ceiling for a while, trying to sort out his tumultuous thoughts. The space heater was giving off pleasant waves of warmth, helping ease the tension in Rick's body. Morty would be fine on his own for a while. He doubted Jerry would return to the house that day. The thought of Jerry caused anger to coil in Rick's gut.

Rick thought of Morty's injuries, his frail body, and his overall well-being. It made unpleasant waves rock the forefront of his mind. Rick needed a drink. He felt along the table for his bottle of hard liquor, not really paying attention to the movements; his eyes still focused on the ceiling. Rick's fingers finally came across the cool glass of the liquor bottle. His hand grasped the neck of the bottle as he brought it to his face. He watched the amber liquid swirl around the confines of the container.

Rick popped the cap of his flask, filling it to the brim with the mind-numbing elixir. He filed the flask away inside of his coat, bringing the bottle to his mouth. He paused. He needed to figure out what he was to do next. What was he supposed to do with a mentally damaged child, when he was just as fucked up?

Rick left the liquor on his desk, opening a portal back to the house. This was perhaps the first time in Rick's life that he chose someone over his alcohol. Even if Rick didn't realize he had just opened himself up to a new realm of possibilities. That this small decision would separate him from every other Rick in existence. Unlike the others, he had a chance now. A chance to be something more. To be better.

When Rick arrived back at the house, he strolled into the kitchen. Morty was still sitting in the same spot where Rick had left him. Morty looked up at Rick, acknowledging his return. "Look Morty," He scratched the back of his neck. "I have some people coming over, they're bringing some clothes over. Gonna help fix you up." Rick huffed when Morty held up the empty bottle, his eyes pleading.

"Yeah Morty, ya did a good job finishing that milk. A real good job Morty." Rick pulled the bottle from Morty's loose grip. Morty's eyes travelled back to the fridge, then back to the bottle. Oh. "Morty, I know you want more, but you, you'll make yourself sick. How bout' after we get ya, you all fixed up, I'll make you something a lot tastier than milk Morty." A spark of recognition lit Morty's eyes. He nodded vigorously.

"Good, Morty. You, Your doing great." Rick ran his hand through Morty's matted hair, before straightening himself and moving to the living room. Morty followed suite, creeping after Rick on all fours. Just as they were about to cross into the next room, a green portal opened up in the wall. Morty sat back on his bottom and Rick watched with rapt attention as Birdperson stepped into the kitchen.

Just as the portal closed, another one formed in it's place. Squanchy jumped though, the portal snapping shut for a final time. Squanchy waltzed forward, his arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture. "Rick Sanchez, it's been way too long!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know things are a little slow right now, but it takes awhile for things to pick up. If your wondering why Rick's not randomly burping throughout the story, I have a perfect explanation. If you watch the show really closely, Rick doesn't burp as mush when he's sober. Really, if you don't believe me, look it up. A big thanks to all my commentors, you're the reasons why this chapter came out so early!


	4. Anger and Frogiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for an emotional rollercoaster! I am going to destroy you with this chapter. By the end you won’t know whether to hate Rick or love him.

Anger and Forgiveness

Morty observed the interactions between the man dubbed ‘Rick Sanchez’, and the strange newcomers. Rick paced through the living room, then back into the kitchen, around the island counter, and finally repeated the process. All while waving his hands erratically, spewing irate explanations and cursing loudly. He liked to pretend that Rick wasn’t really mad. Bad things happened when people got mad. Morty unconsciously mapped possible escape routes during the ranting, his body tense like a coiled spring. He was ready to run if things escalated. He had been conditioned to be passive, but submissiveness didn’t mean that he was stupid. This time he wasn’t going to be extorted and trapped.

The people who had came through the portal were like the characters in his cartoons, or the storybooks his mother used to read him. Though Morty couldn’t remember any of the particular fantasies; they had all been washed away by the horrors of the past few years.

The first to come out of the portal was a person with enormous bird wings. The bird-man made him uncomfortable because he wouldn’t stop staring. Morty didn’t like the bird-man; how his eyes portrayed a sense of genius, of serenity. Morty could practically see the gears turning in the man’s head. He was an expert at reading people, picking up on body language like a domesticated dog.

This man held himself in a nonthreatening way, that Morty could not explain. He hid how smart he really was for a reason. Hidden motives made Morty uneasy. The man knew things. Of what, Morty hadn’t the slightest of clues.

Next was the cat creature. Morty wasn’t sure what to make of him; a bipedal cat with a ratlike tail. This cat creature spoke like a person, trying to reason with Rick and allowing himself to become roped into Rick’s conversation. Morty picked up on his body language rather quickly, unlike Rick and the bird-man.

The creature would constantly shift his eyes, making sure to be aware of his surroundings. He would glance between Morty and Rick, occasionally adding to the discussion. The average person wouldn’t notice, but the creature would pause when he shifted his eyes. It was a minuscule detail, but it told Morty everything he needed to know. It paused as it looked at all the doors and the windows, taking in all the entrances and makeshift exits. The creature was jumpy, as if he was anticipating some sort of raid. Morty didn’t see him as a threat, animals weren’t malicious like humans.

Morty watched the trio with interest. They seemed to be friends with Rick, but not in the way Jerry was acquainted with his 'clients’. Both had dropped off conspicuous items on the coffee table; a sack made of some unknown animal pelt, and a stack of what appeared to be hastily folded clothes. Morty wasn’t sure of the nature of the visit, items, or conversation, but he did try his hardest to understand. Rick was nice to him when he understood (though vaguely) what more food and later meant. He couldn’t help yearning for a chance at more positive attention. Morty was so touch starved that he would take what he could get.

“Sooooooo, that’s why I, I’m stuck on this miserable planet with this, this,” he waved a little in Morty’s direction, “charity commercial wannabe.” Rick exhaled, raising his head. He didn’t want to deal with this. He absolutely loathed the times when he was forced to explain himself. Rick liked keeping his thoughts and problems to himself. He was completely content when it came to keeping all of his emotions bottled up inside. Rick’s fingers itched, he really needed a drink.

Squanchy was glancing between Rick and Morty; a worried expression painted across his face. Birdperson was just staring at Morty, face as blank as it always was. The silence was deafening, awkward, and uncomfortable. Rick couldn’t bring himself to break the tension. Rick let out a sigh of relief when Birdperson finally finished his staring contest with Morty, redirecting his eyes to focus on him.

“He’s like you.” Birdperson recited carefully, as if he was articulating each word in an unfamiliar language. Rick froze.“His eyes are just like yours. So much pain, masked with striking intellect. He’s haunted, scarred, but very, very smart.” Birdperson made sure to stay out of Rick’s general area, waiting for his immanent meltdown.

Rick rounded on Birdperon. This cross-analyzing was sowing the seeds of thought. Of something linking him to this Morty. It rubbed him the wrong way, made him feel. He didn’t like when people thought that they could understand. And here was Birdperson, his most trusted friend; telling him who he was. Birdperson had never tried to go against him. Ever.“Are you serious!? This is a Morty we’re talkin about. They’re literally human shields! We have backup tickets at the Counsel, just in case we lose one. They’re expendable, and the only reason I’m weighed down with this pathetic whelp, is because he’s the only thing that can block my brain waves!” Birdperson stood his ground adding fuel to the flames, while Squanchy moved to stand in front of the cowering Morty – shielding him from the sight of Rick’s tantrum.

Rick narrowed his eyes moving to tear Birdperson’s baseless speculation to shreds. “This is the first time you’ve ever even met a Morty, I’ve been dealing with their damn whining for a year now! And I can tell you one thing – above all else – Morty’s ARE. NOT. SMART. All of them are just as stupid and pissy as the last.” He seemed to calm himself a bit before continuing with his tirade. “They’re all the same, only this wretch is just a little more worse for wear. Got the shit-end of a crap deal…” He groaned, apparently burning himself out.

Squanchy decided to moderate the disagreement by changing the subject. “Soooooo,” he drew the word out, to help center his friend’s attention. He clasped his hands together as Rick and Birdperson’s trance was broken. “What do you really know about what happened here? Like I’m not tying to step on your toes Rick, but to what to extent do you know about what happened to this kid?” Squanchy had moved to Morty sometime during the argument, and was now holding the boy’s head, smelling his hair. Morty was sitting at Squanchy’s feet, calmly playing with Squanchy’s tail as he attempting to avoid everyone’s attention. Rick cringed. “What, whatever you’re doing right now is realllllly freaking me out Squanchy. It would be nice if you stopped touching my grandson. Like, like, right now.”

Squanchy raised his arms up in mock defeat. “I was getting a better scent off of him. I thought I smelled something off, but I didn’t wanna go throwing accusations around.” His eyes shifted around for a moment. “The scent was almost drowned out by all of the stink, but,” Squanchy paused, as if trying to find the proper words to satiate Rick, “But in short, h-he smells like sex.”

Rick held himself up against the counter with one arm, his other traveling up to massage the bridge of his nose. It was a harsh blow to the gut, but Rick wasn’t completely caught off guard. If Jerry could lock his son up and allow him to deteriorate to the condition he was in now, he wouldn’t put him past sexual assault.

Rick leveled his sight at the picture that stretched out before him. Squanchy standing off to the side, while Morty was sitting and running his hands up and down Squanchy’s tail. Morty’s face was relaxed; more relaxed than any other time today. More relaxed than with Rick. He was at ease with Squanchy’s presence, and that made something hot boil up in Rick’s stomach. Jealousy.

Rick knew it wasn’t the time to be caught up on something so trivial. Hell, he’d found out his grandson was being raped. But It made emotion stir in Rick, someone Morty had only met minutes ago, was safer to Morty than the man that had been taking care of him all day. Rick reached into his lab coat and pulled out his flask. Popping the cap, he took a long swig. He needed to kill all the feeling away. It was for the best that Morty didn’t trust him. It would make things easier in the long run.

“Squancy, Birdperson.” Rick looked between his two friends. “Thanks for all the stuff, but I need some time to think. You, you guys are aweOOUUGHHsome.” He nodded to Birdperson, eyes locking. “Truce?”

Birdperson bowed his head, “All is forgiven Rick. The past is the past, may we not dwell on it.” His conformation rectified Rick’s frayed nerves.

 

After Birdperson and Squanchy went back to their collective worlds, Rick and Morty were left alone in the living room. Morty was sitting on the cherry-wood floor, toying with the tendrils of the white rug. However, Rick was deep in thought. He would occasionally catch sight of Morty’s eyes, trying to figure out what his friend had seen in the boy. All that he could see in those unnaturally wide orbs was baser instincts and fear.

He took a swig from his flask, his mind buzzing pleasantly. Maybe it was more of Birdperson’s philosophical mumbo-jumbo. His nonsense talk. Rick chalked it up to being nothing more than that. Rick believed that if he couldn’t comprehend or explain it, it didn’t exist in the first place. He was the smartest person in multiple universes after all.

Dark thoughts began to flood Rick’s consciousness. Horrible ideas that would halt all of the feelings in their tracks. Permanently. This Morty is a train-wreck. How was he supposed to fix this? This kid was so damaged… it may be in the best interests of both of them to put the kid outta his misery. He’d killed plenty of people; so frequently, that it was now second nature to him. What made this Morty any different? More emotion swelled up in his chest, and he took another sip from his flask. Getting rid of this Morty would stop all these unwanted feelings.

Rick looked down on his grandson, his hand fingering the disintegrater gun in his pocket. All he had to do was set the weapon on high and take the shot. It would be a quick, painless death. Morty wouldn’t have to live a painful existence like he did. He wouldn’t have to live with the awful memories of the past. He’d be doin’ the kid a favor, he reasoned. An attempt to justify the action. To pacify all the alarms going off in his head.

Rick slipped his invention from his pocket, quietly adjusting the dial to the highest level. There wouldn’t be much left of the kid afterwards, only ashes. Just the way Rick wanted. No cleanup, no regrets, no more feelings. He could go to the Counsel of Ricks when it was all said and done, and try to apply for a new Morty. The idea of asking them for help seeming less monumental as things progressed.

Rick aimed the gun at Morty while he was picking at the white cloth. Morty was unaware of what was about to happen, what his grandfather was about to do to him. Rick cocked the weapon, and his finger ghosted across the trigger.

Morty stilled at the sound of the gun being cocked, and lifted his head to look at his savior. Rick faltered, his resolve wavering. Morty’s eyes were full of innocence and life. The will to live shining brightly in his irises. Rick lowered the gun, giving a loud groan. His hand coming up to rub his eyes. He tried to cover up his weakness with a warped sense of logic. He couldn’t just kill this Morty, he’d already put too much of his valuable time and effort into saving him. Yeah, that’s why he chose not to destroy him.

No other sentimental emotions were holding him back. Emotions made people weak. They were for the ignorant people who refused to accept the way things really were. The universe was a cold, dark, lonely place, and weaker beings needed each other to feel as if they were somehow important. When in all actuality, they meant nothing. Though the cruelest reality was that if Morty had not looked up at Rick in that moment in time, in that brief second, he would be dead. A pile of black ash to be scattered on the wind.

Rick began to head towards the bathroom, gesturing for Morty to follow. The gun slipped back into his lab coat. He tilted his head back, making sure the kid got the memo; Morty lifted himself up from the floor, wobbling as he righted himself on two legs. He resembled a baby deer taking it’s first steps into an unforgiving world.

Morty followed silently, Rick ready to catch him if he fell. Though Rick would never admit that he was looking out for the kid. “Come, come on Morty, you, your getting a bath Morty. Ya, you smell like ass, and I can’t handle it right now. Like, like you could prOOUUGHHbably win a contest. Set a new world record.” He emptied his flask.

 

Morty sat in the corner as Rick went about filling the tub. Rick poured some sweet smelling bath beads into the water, they colored the liquid a light pink with bubbles. He then proceeded to remove his lab coat and long-sleeved shirt, to keep them dry. He draped them carelessly over the rack centered above the toilet.

Rick glanced at Morty who was curled up tightly, deciding that he needed to remove the mats from his grandson’s hair before he went further. Rick sauntered over to the bathroom cabinet, opening the double doors in search for something useful. He gathered a tube of disinfectant cream, a roll of bandages, some medical tape, a sea-foam green towel, an unopened bottle of shampoo, a bottle of body wash, and a pair of silver scissors in his arms.

Rick unexpectantly opened his arms, allowing all the materials to drop to the floor. He only bent down to retrieve the towel and scissors, which he placed on the toilet seat. He turned to get Morty. “AlriOOUUGHHght Morty,” He crouched down to the kid’s level, hoisting Morty up to his feet. “Grandpa’s gonna give you a, a bath. Fix you alllllllllllllll up Morty.” Just as Rick’s fingers gripped the worn hem of Morty’s stained underwear, Morty let out a shrill, inhuman scream.

Rick was so stunned by the sudden shriek, he was unprepared for when Morty violently flung himself over Rick’s shoulder in an escape attempt. Rick was shocked out of his stupor, his arms wrapping around Morty’s hips as the boy scrambled for something to grab, some purchase to wriggle himself out of the man’s grip. He clawed at Rick’s white undershirt, screeching the entire time.

Rick was finally able to pull the kid down off his shoulder, his hand closing over Morty’s mouth in a futile motion to quite the loud ringing bursting his eardrums. All was quiet for half a second, before everything tumbled into a downward spiral. “Goddammit Morty, ya, you need to calm do – FUCK!” he ripped his hand from Morty’s mouth, blood welling up from a nasty bite.

Morty used this distraction as an opportunity to lurch over Rick’s shoulder a second time. Patience had whittled away, and Rick snarled as he reached up to fist Morty’s tangled mess of hair. “Ya, YOU LITTLE SHIT! All I’ve been tryin’ ta do a, all GODDAMN day is help your ungrateful ass! And you piss it all away for notOOUUGHHing!”

He hauled the boy off of him by his hair, throwing him down as hard as he could to the floor. Morty landed on his side, curling into a slight ball. Silent tears sliding down his face, only to splatter on the tiles. Rick stood over Morty, completely unsympathetic. He didn’t feel bad in the least, in Rick’s twisted mind, Morty had brought the retaliation upon himself.

Rick wracked his mind for a reason why the little bastard would react so negatively. Morty was mostly silent and well behaved during the entirety of Rick’s interactions. In fact, this was the first vocalization the kid had made all day. Why the sudden change in behavior? Rick towered over Morty, his hands in his pockets. Morty’s body now shook with the force of his sobs, locked in a tight fetal position.

Rick moaned, face-palming as he finally came to the obvious conclusion. The kid had been raped for God knows how long, and then a strange old man – one he had only known for hours – gets half naked with him and tries to take off his underwear. Rick didn’t blame the kid, but still lacked remorse for his actions.

“Hu, hey kid.” Rick crouched down once again, rocking on the balls of his feet. “C'mon, we, we gotta get ya, you cleaned up. I, I’ll let you keep your underwear on for now, if ya don, don’t bite me no more.” Rick let air filter through his nose as Morty’s cries grew harder with Rick’s close proximity. Rick finally gave in and pulled his grandson into a tight embrace.

Morty’s body gave a few harsh spasms as Rick held him. Eventually the sobs subsided, and Rick pushed Morty back by his shoulders. His face was red and puffy, but he had finished his crying. Rick gave a gentle shove, dislodging the boy from his lap. Morty resumed his position on the floor, waiting for Rick’s next move.

Rick picked up the scissors and went to the large shower nestled in the back of the room. Opening the glass door wide, he reached up to grab the disconnecting shower-head. There was a tiled seat in the shower, that Rick lowered himself to. He warmed the water up and beckoned Morty over with a point of his finger. Morty hesitantly crawled to Rick, like an animal slinking to it’s owner for certain punishment.

Rick made sure Morty was planted firmly between his legs before dousing the kid’s head with the nozzle. Morty trembled, unable to stop a few whimpers of trepidation. Dark clumps of mud dropped from Morty’s head, as whorls of filth were washed down the drain. When Rick finished wetting Morty’s head, he used the scissors to give Morty a sloppy haircut.

Rick took the metal grate out of the floor to allow the largest of the dirty clumps to run down the drain, the rest following suite. Haircuts were not Rick’s forte, but he’d done a moderate job. Well, at least he thought so. Morty’s hair was an uneven jungle, longer strips of hair intermingling with shorter ones. The overall length was just past Morty’s ears, his bangs sweeping low enough to touch his eyebrows.

Rick left Morty in the shower to drop the scissors into the sink and retrieve the shampoo. He scrubbed Morty’s head, the foam turning gray from years of filth. He rinsed it out and repeated the process until the new bottle of shampoo was empty. Morty’s torso had streaks of skin peeking through the grime now, but Rick felt that it was going to be a battle if he wanted to scrub the kid’s body.

Rick exited the shower to see what the kid would do if left to his own devices. He sat down on the toilet lid after setting the towel down next to the tub. Would the kid just sit there doing nothing, or would he try to explore? Rick didn’t have to wait long for the answer, as Morty got back up on two legs, using the shower seat as a support.

Morty looked to Rick for guidance on what to do, and Rick jerked his thumb at the tub before settling his elbows on his knees. Allowing his arms to hang limply between his parted legs. Morty slowly made his way to the bath, only looking back at Rick once as he reached the edge of the tub. Rick gave him a bored nod, rolling his eyes in irritation.

Morty stared down into the water, before sinking to his knees and dunking his arms deep into the bath. Rick watched him, amused by the small smile on Morty’s face. While Morty was enjoying the warm water, Rick exited the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him. He hoped the kid might take off the pair of soiled underwear if left alone, with no prying eyes to pervert him.

Rick went to living room, and sunk into the soft couch. He went through all of the clothes his friends had graciously donated. Some of Squanchy’s clothes would fit Morty, but the majority were much too small. Birdperson had dropped off his youngest niece and nephew’s cast-offs. Rick threw anything pink or that resembled a dress in the 'reject pile’ off to his right.

Rick made two trips to drop his most reasonable picks of the clothes inside the drawers of the master bedroom. He’d decided to let Morty have the largest bedroom, mainly because the master bedroom had an adjoining bathroom. Rick doubted Morty would be able to stumble through the house in the middle of the night, searching for the only other bathroom in the house. The kid might not even make it that far, he could be too scared of his shadow to leave the room, choosing to wet himself rather than take a risk. Rick did not want to deal with that. These days Rick didn’t want to deal with a lot of things.

Rick selected the first articles of clothing from the tops of the stacks; not really bothering to analyze the items. He cracked open the bathroom door, finding Morty in the tub, washing his arms with a sponge. The kid was too preoccupied to realize Rick was checking in on him, so he quietly left the clothes on the floor directly in front of the door. As Rick tugged the door shut, he noticed the dirty underwear lying discarded on the tiles.

Rick waited in the hallway by the door, until he heard the bathwater draining. He knocked lightly. “Morty, I, it’s grandpa. I, I’m gonna be comin’ in Morty. So, ya know, don’t freak oOOUUGHHut.” Rick opened the door and spotted Morty standing in the middle of the bathroom. He was wearing the white boxer shorts Rick had dropped off, and twisting the black tank in his hands nervously.

Rick entered the room, and carefully removed the tank from Morty’s hands. Angry red welts and open sores were more visible now. Morty’s hips and neck dotted with dark purple and yellowish bruises. When he got his hands on the sick fucks who did this. “It, it’s okay Morty. Grandpa Rick’s gonna fix your cuts up Morty. The, then you can puOOUUGHHt the shirt on.”

He rubbed the anti-bacterial cream on all of the wounds, relieved that none of them needed stitches. Rick was a messy at stitches, he’d given himself numerous ones on his many adventures. None of them had healed well. He wiped his hands on a rag, then wrapped Morty up with the roll of bandages. He tore the medical tape with his teeth, and secured the wrap tightly. Next he slid the top over Morty’s head, laughing a little when he saw the tank he had inadvertently chosen.

In bright white letters, his old band name, - The Flesh Curtains – was spelled out. Morty was a little alarmed at the laugh, but followed Rick out of the bathroom.

 

They entered the kitchen and Rick immediately began digging through the pantry, searching for something Morty could eat. Morty stood in the archway, playing with the hem of his shirt. He found a bag of rice under a shelf stocked with pet food. He didn’t pay much attention to the implications that the cans had lain out before him. He left the rice on the counter and went to the fridge to find other items.

He was only able to find a jar of beef gravy and a lone salt shaker. There was a rice cooker on the counter, making things all the more convenient. He was pulling a small saucepan from a cabinet, when he started a one-sided conversation. “So, Morty, how bout’ some rice and gravy for dinner. Not, not very luxurious, but it, it’ll get –“ He stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as things clicked together.

Morty was standing at the pantry, a can of dog food held in his hands. He was fiddling with the tab. Jerry didn’t have a dog, Morty was his dog… not even good enough for human food. It explained the random pet food perfectly. Unbridled rage lit in the pits of Rick’s stomach, his self-control snapping like a rubber band that was pulled taut. His teeth clenched painfully and his hands shook with anger.

He strode over to Morty, ripping the can from the child’s hands and hurling it at the far wall. Morty sensed what was going to happen, and bolted from the kitchen. “JERRY, WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU! I, I’M GONNA GOUGE OUT YOUR EYES AND SHOVE THEM SO FAR UP YOUR ASS, THAT YOU’LL BE ABLE TO SEE ME CASTRATING YOU WHILE YOU BEG FOR MERCY!”

Rick gripped the top of the pantry with both of his hands, and with a grunt, he slammed it forwards into the floor. Cans of cat food and dog food bouncing across the woodwork. Rick yelled, his hands pulling at his hair. He couldn’t do this! It was too much! In the span of a day he’d learned of his daughter’s death, his grandson’s abuse, got into a fight with his most trusted friend, and taken on the mantel of guardianship!

Rick was unable to handle the reality of the situation. He had pushed it to the back of his mind all day, but now it was emerging all at once. So Rick did the only thing he knew how to do, the only thing that would ease his fractured psych. He pulled out his portal gun, and left.

 

Hours later, Rick was sitting alone in his warehouse, drinking all the pain away. His world tilted dangerously on it’s axis, before righting itself. Rick finished another bottle, tossing the glass bottle somewhere behind him. The glass shattered, spreading sharp shards across its radius. Rick passed out.

 

He awoke to a terrible hangover splitting his head in two. Rick took some pills that were sitting on his desk to take the edge off. He cracked open his eyes to look at a digital clock centered on a nearby folding chair. It read, 12:03 in neon green letters. He forced himself to stand, his legs like jelly. Memories of the previous evening rushing back.

Rick groaned when he realized he had to go back and feed Morty. The kid couldn’t afford to miss anymore meals. Well, he couldn’t have fucked things up any more than he had, even if he wanted to. He opened a portal back to earth.

 

When he arrived back, he dropped a small robot in the kitchen. Rick had taken apart his disintegrater gun to manufacture the thing. It zoomed around the general vicinity, incinerating each individual can of pet food. Rick lifted the pantry up, sliding it back against the wall. He called for Morty, even though he was already aware that the kid wasn’t going to give up his hiding place. It was worth a shot. He shrugged and went about cooking dinner.

Rick prepared the rice and heated up the gravy on the stove. He made sure to water it down so Morty wouldn’t get sick. The mess had been cleaned up while he was cooking, and the robot deactivated. Rick scooped some rice into two plastic bowls, salting and drizzling gravy on the portions. He shoved a metal spoon in his rice, and a plastic child’s spoon into Morty’s.

Rick was about to mount his search for Morty, when he spied him peaking around the island counter. He had apparently been attracted by the smell of food. Rick pushed Morty’s bowl in his direction, and Morty snatched it from Rick’s hand. He went back to hiding behind the counter. Rick didn’t apologize for his outburst, he never apologized for anything.

Rick ate at the table, looking in at Morty every once and a while. When Morty finished his food, he licked the bottom of the bowl, before hiding better behind the counter. It was eerily silent. Rick finished eating soon after Morty and went to see what the child was doing. As he rounded the corner of the island, he almost tripped over Morty’s sleeping form.

Rick bent down to pick up Morty and carry him to his room, only stopping to fill Morty’s bottle half-way with a little of the milk mixture, shifting the boy on his hip as he did so. He pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder, and tucked Morty into the bed. Rick stopped to stare at his grandson. All the pain and fear absent from his sleeping face; it was almost like he was a normal kid. Almost.

Rick pressed the bottle into Morty’s fingers, and switched the starry lamp on before he left. The blue stars rotating around the dark room. Rick, for the first time in eternity, felt ashamed. How could Morty ever forgive me?

 

Morty was awake the moment Rick lifted him from the floor. He was half-asleep, but was partially aware of what was going on. He opened his tired eyes to gape at the bright blue stars, sucking at the bottle of milk Rick had left him. After all those hellish years, someone had finally come for him. Morty had already forgiven Rick’s actions. He was too happy to hold a grudge against his savior.

Morty was elated. His chest was vibrating with thrums of joy. This had been the best day of his life! Though Morty didn’t trust Rick, and probably never would, he already loved him more than life itself. This man gave him food, and clothes, and was nice to him. He hadn’t tried to do bad things to him when he bathed, and he hadn’t sold him like his father had.

Even if it had been less than a full day since their fated meeting, Morty had placed every ounce of hope he had left in this strange man. He had someone he could believe in for the first time in years. If only Rick knew that he meant the world to this boy. There were a lot of 'ifs’ in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like and review for more! Feel free to send me things you want incorporated into the story. I desperately need ideas to keep it going (:


	5. Dying for a Cause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK I’m crying. I didn’t mean for this to get so emotional, but it did. It so did. I hope you like the quotes at the beginning of each chapter, I spent a long time picking them out. I’m sorry this is sorta late, but I have a lot of hate directed towards me by my family. I think that’s why I wrote this chapter so painfully.

OK I’m crying. I didn’t mean for this to get so emotional, but it did. It so did. I hope you like the quotes at the beginning of each chapter, I spent a long time picking them out. I’m sorry this is sorta late, but I have a lot of hate directed towards me by my family. I think that’s why I wrote this chapter so painfully.

====

Dying for a Cause

“Hurt me with the truth, but never comfort me with a lie.”

Unknown

=====

Rick rolled out of bed at seven. Stirred to consciousness by gray sunlight filtering through the curtains. He sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, recalling the events that took place over the past few days.

It had been a week since Rick had returned to Earth. The majority of the time was spent moving his lab into the garage. It was a time consuming task, that would have been made easier if Rick’s warehouse had some semblance of organization; important inventions and materials were mixed in with all walks of useless garbage. He had used the Meeseeks box to summon a dozen of the aliens to help sift though the piles, but it still took countless hours to find, discard, and move, all of the worthwhile equipment through the portal.

This week had been one of the most stressful of Rick’s life, Morty seemed hellbent on inducing a brain aneurysm through idiotic stunts. The kid had nearly given him multiple heart attacks, he was like a magnet attracting trouble wherever he decided to wonder. A total of three of these incidents had occurred over the span of days. Rick ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes shakily.

====

The first mishap occurred the afternoon after meeting Morty. Rick had opened a portal from the garage to his warehouse, leaving it open so he could move between the dimensions more easily. Morty was left in the dining room with his lunch. Rick’s shoes crunched the broken glass that littered the cement floor. The clear and green shards glittering under the synthetic lights.

Rick had spent nearly an hour searching for the Meeseeks box, grumbling curses under his breath. Finally he had found the box under a white tarp, buried beneath what seemed like a ton of junk. He lifted the box from the ground, brushing some dust off of the valuable instrument. He heard some glass brushing across the floor. Rick assumed it was the wind, so he rolled his shoulders and continued his inspection of the device.

As Rick turned around, his shoes crunching some of the powdered glass, his eyes lifted from the box to settle on a horrifying picture. “HOLY SHI – MORTY!” The box fell from Rick’s hands as he scrambled forward, it hit the cement with a metallic clang. Rick stumbled over his own feet in haste, barely able to right himself as he sprinted to his grandson. He skidded to a stop, nearly toppling over Morty, and crouched down to snatch him up. Rick secured the boy, holding Morty an arm’s length away from his body.

Blood was dripping from Morty’s bare feet, a trail of red footprints leading from the bright green portal to about halfway inside of the warehouse. The stupid, stupid boy had blindly entered the portal – not even thinking about where it could lead – to trail after Rick like a lost puppy. He hadn’t put on a pair of shoes before starting off on his little exploration, walking right into the sharp glass.

Rick sat Morty down on his desk, the child’s eyes were sort of glossy, but he didn’t cry. Rick assumed after Morty made it through the portal, he had spotted Rick fiddling with the Meeseeks box. After that, it was obvious that the boy continued on to get to his grandfather. The decision was so stupid, that it hurt. It literally, physically hurt Rick to think about it. Smart my ass, Birdperson must be going senile with age. Rick groaned and took a long swig from a bottle that was sitting next to Morty on his work table.

Rick retrieved the Meeseeks box, and pressed the button twice. A duo appeared in a puff of smoke, with cries of ‘I’m Mr. Meeseeks look at me!’ Morty gasped, but remained silent after a glare from Rick. “Look, I, I, need you on the riOOUUGHHght,” the Meeseek’s eyes shined brightly. “To watch my, my asinine grandson while I get bandages. Ya, you on the left,” he pointed at the Meeseek. “Cle, clean up this glass and blood. Since some, someone,” he narrowed his eyes at Morty. “Can’t be trusted to use COMMON SENSE, and put on some goddamned SHOES, before trapeasing into the UNKNOWN.”

A joint 'Can do’ echoed off of the metal walls, further grating on Rick’s nerves.

Forty-five minutes later, the glass shards were all removed and Rick went back to work. The day winding to an end, while Rick thought about how high the kid’s pain tolerancy really was.

====

The second mishap occurred two days after the first. Rick had been working on welding a spaceship together in the garage after breakfast. Morty was sulking in the corner after Rick refused to allow him more food. The kid would make himself sick if he ate too much, but he was too young to understand malnutrition. He simply thought that Rick was being mean for the sake of being nasty.

Rick would openly admit that he wasn’t supervising Morty the way he should have been. He should have put any potentially harmful substance on higher shelves like his weapons. But he hadn’t thought that Morty would eat from a jar of glowing, green salve. Rick remained blissfully unaware of Morty’s immanent danger, until he heard the clinking of glass.

Rick felt the tension in the air before he knew what was going on. He slowly rotated his swivel chair to face Morty, spotting the kid with a jar of ectoeco in his hands; the cap unscrewed and glowing goo covering his face. He flew from the chair and quickly pulled the container from Morty’s stunned hands.

Rick’s heart was beating out of his chest as he scanned the warning label, desperately wracking his mind for the proper translations. The lettering was a mass of animal footprints organized in various succession. Qwern? No. Tweanarian? No. Maybe a deviation from the Poi language…RITZ! yes it was Ritz. Rick looked down at his grandson whose pupils were blown, leaving only a sliver of coloring.

Damn, damn, damn! What was the use of being a genius, if he couldn’t remember languages at the drop of a pin? He finally deciphered the label. It read in emboldened letters: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN. Well, he’d already crossed that bridge. SIDE EFFECTS AFTER INGESTION INCLUDE, BUT ARE NOT LIMITED TO: TEMPORARY BLINDNESS, EYE DIALATION, SEZURES, MUSCLE SPASMS, VOMITING… the list continued for a while, before Rick reached the bottom. ALL SIDE EFFECTS ARE NON-FATAL, AND RECEED WITHIN MINUTES.

Rick jolted when Morty fell to the floor, his body convulsing in a seizure. Fear clawed it’s way into his body, but he forced himself to remain calm. He knelt to rest beside his grandson, waiting for the seizure to subside. Within seconds Morty stilled, his eyes cloudy and unfocused. Rick pulled the boy into his arms, standing slowly in case Morty went into more spasms.

Rick briefly thought of going to an inter-galactic hospital, but disregarded the idea as the symptoms were temporary. They only were supposed to last minutes, meaning that the trip would be futile. The ectoeco would be out of his system before a doctor would even catch a glimpse of the boy.

Rick sat in his swivel chair, and rocked Morty in his arms until the salve had finished running it’s course.

Morty didn’t touch anything in the lab without Rick’s permission after that day. The kid learned quick, and he was lucky that his lesson did not kill him. Rick had been ready to slap the boy silly after he regained his sense, but softened at Morty’s guilty expression. He had been through enough. He didn’t cry or make a sound throughout the entire ordeal.

====

The final incident was purely on Rick’s shoulders, his burden to bear. The previous day, Rick had made them both dinner, carelessly using whole-milk in some instant oatmeal. He was exhausted after another long day of constructing his new lab, watching Morty like a hawk, (because the Meeseeks were too passive for proper babysitters) and building a spaceship out of scraps.

They were sitting at the table and eating in their places, Rick making conversation with his mute grandson. It was all one-sided, but it was nice to talk to someone; even if they barely understood English. Rick believed that Morty would catch on to the language quicker if he was exposed as much as possible.

“Been another long day Morty, sue, soon we’ll be abOOUUGHHle to go explorin’. Ya, you’d like that, right Morty?” Rick glanced over at Morty, the boy was eating quietly while swinging his feet back and forth.

“Ya, you know, your my little buddy. We, we’re gonna go on soooooooooo maOOUUGHHny adventures Morty. I, Imma gonna show you the universe.” Rick made a wide arc with his arms, “We, we’re gonna get into all kinds of shenanigans. Ha, have so muOOUUGHHch fun that, you, you’ll forget all about your dickwad of a dad. Don’t really know how he could make somethin’ as great as you though. And I know a lot of things.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, before shrugging it off.

“Well you are Beth’s son. Anything she had a hand in creating must have droOOUUGHHwned out Jerry’s idiocy. You, you’re a good kid Morty. Reeeeeeeeeal good Morty. Beth must have inherited my penchant for being attracted to things that are the opposite of what people refer to as good. I hope it skips ya, your generation Morty. Don’t need anymore pain. Already have too much as it is.”

Rick just happened to glance over at Morty, the boy as turning a sickly color and clutching at his abdomen. Rick’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. Morty stumbled out of his seat, and ran in the direction of the bathroom. Rick face-palmed as he heard the doorknob slam into the wall, followed by the sound of violent retching.

God was punishing him. Torturing him through all this mushy comforting and mild panic-attacks. This kid’s going to to the death of me. Surprising, considering everything else he survived by the skin of his teeth. Botched suicides, wars, imploding planets, black holes, marriage… the list went on and on. Rick groaned as he got up from the table, idly slipping his hands in his pockets as he made his way to the bathroom.

Rick leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed, as he watched Morty empty his stomach. At least he made it to the toilet. Morty finished after a while, curling up on the floor and sobbing. Rick went over to him and rubbed soothing circles in Morty’s back until he had cried himself to sleep. Rick had then dropped the boy off in his bed before retreating to his own room to get drunk.

====

He was dozing in his armchair, sipping from a bottle of hard liquor. He wondered why Morty reacted to vomiting with tears. The boy had walked through glass and had been poisoned, but came out of the ruts like nothing abnormal had happened. Rick had come to learn that the boy had never cried from physical pain, only emotional. What bad memory set the boy off? What had made getting ill so traumatizing?

Morty had a pain tolerancy that rivaled Rick’s own; brushing off agony like a bothersome mosquito. This kid took suffering in strides, enduring injuries that would cripple most. He applauded the kid’s resiliency, his strength. Morty’s emotional stability, was a whole other story. Morty cried when Rick yelled or ignored him or scared him. He cried over trivial things, but didn’t bat an eye when a monkey wrench fell and hit him in the head.

It was disturbing. Morty didn’t act like a child. He acted like an old man who’d seen too much, who’d felt enough to know what to expect from the universe. Whose mind was so broken from all the trouble he’d seen, who hurt so much, but knew there was nobody who he could tell. Nobody who’d understand what it was like. The things he’d seen, been forced to do, forced to endure. They had made him cynical and bitter towards the world, his intelligence mocking a shattered sense of reasoning. All the emotions and love numbed away. The demons that he hid so well, coming to the surface to torment him.

Was he still talking about Morty? Rick wasn’t so sure anymore, so he finished his liquor and went to bed. Another horrible day wasted away.

====

Rick shook his head, finished reminiscing. He glanced at the alarm clock, it’s numbers reading 7:11. Time to get to work. Today was going to be his first outing with Morty. A few concerns floated across his mind as he got up to get dressed. Would this Morty’s brainwaves even shield him? Was his mind too broken and fractured to line up correctly with his own? Could this Morty even handle such a trip? Sure, the kid had put on weight and stopped cowering over nothing; but could he survive in a desperate situation?

Rick decided to throw caution to the wind, they had to go. Rick knew that he had to retrieve some flowers from what he considered, a fairly mellow planet. There were no other sentient beings on the planet, so that would keep Morty from folding under the pressure of pushing through crowded streets. The animals were somewhat passive when it came to people, save for the occasional viscous beast.

Well, he’d just have to jump right in and do his best to avoid said beasts. They were running on borrowed time, and Rick had allowed Morty a week of procrastination before the inevitable journey. He’d hoped to let the boy settle down and get accustomed to the freaky things he did, before throwing him headlong into the chaos. Rick had no other choice, he needed to retrieve some flowers from the Qasdef Galaxy to power the hovering systems installed in his new ship. He needed the ship in the event that he lost charge on his portal gun, and to move out of Jerry’s house if things went haywire.

Rick shoved his window open, a light, warm breeze filling the curtains, swaying them peacefully. The sun was beginning to faze through the clouds, fog lifting from the damp roads. He had missed these mornings when he abandoned Earth, but hadn’t had the time to reflect on his sabbatical while he was away. He wouldn’t realize how much he took simple scenery foregranted, until he looked up at the night sky on his first night back, and watched the dew drip from long blades of grass in the mornings. There was so much he missed, but reversing time wouldn’t fix things. It was a band-aid, that covered up failure. After slipping his coat on, he took a sip from his flask.

Rick made his way to the kitchen to make breakfast, wondering what he was going to do about food. For the time being they were good in the shelter aspect, but he wasn’t so sure how long that would last. He assumed that Jerry was paying the bills, mortgage, and avoiding outright eviction by police force because he was bribing Rick to keep silent about what happened to Morty.

Rick had every intention of making Jerry suffer, but for now he had to wait. Patience was a virtue, right? Rick did not have a suitable place to live right now, and he couldn’t subject Morty to anymore misery. The warehouse he was living in didn’t even have basic necessities, every time he needed food he had to go to the Counsel, and all they had to offer was unhealthy fast-food or alcoholic products. It was constantly cold and wet, the only source of heat was his small space heater. It was no place to raise a child.

He would find housing on another world soon, but for now his hands were tied. Rick pulled a box of oatmeal from the cabinet, and some bacon from the fridge. For the past week he and Morty had been living off oatmeal, rice, potatoes, and a pound of bacon. Today was their final day of rations, and Rick had to figure out what to do.

Rick had no Earth currency, and there was no exchange for his off-world money. After he got his ship running, they may have to go shopping at a Federation market, where there was a chance someone could recognize him as a terrorist. He would see what happened over the next twenty-four hours. He heated the oatmeal in a pot, making sure to use water this time. The bacon sizzled in the hot pan, a fantastic aroma wafting through the house.

Rick scooped the bacon from the pan with a spatula, dropping it on a plate. He turned the stove on low to keep the oatmeal warm, while he went to wake his grandson.

====

The door swung open without a sound, and Rick stood in the doorway taking in the photographic view. The room was illuminated with a rich, orange glow; the sun finally deciding to make an appearance. Morty’s starry lamp was still rotating, the light blue stars now a vague silhouette shining along the walls. Morty was impossibly tangled within his blankets and sheets, Rick wondered how much tossing and turning had occurred to wrap the boy so thoroughly.

The twist of blankets had hiked up Morty’s pajama shirt, exposing his light back. One foot was covered, while the other was splayed out haphazardly. Morty was hugging his pillow to his head, his hair sticking out in all directions. With the brilliant colors, perfect balance of shadowing, and the picturesque pose Morty had unwittingly stuck; they could make it big in some magazine. A photographer’s dream shot.

Well, time to ruin it. Rick strode over to the bed, only pausing briefly to contemplate the best way of untangling the boy from his cocoon. Why am I even thinking about this? Rick shrugged before grabbing Morty’s exposed foot, and yanking him clean off of the mattress. Morty landed on the carpet in a mess of covers, he moaned and pulled some of the freed blankets over his head to block out the sun.

He didn’t make any attempts at moving or even acknowledging Rick’s presence. Morty knew Rick was there, but actively chose to ignore him for the first time. Morty should have known that his grandfather wasn’t going to take kindly to being given the cold shoulder. Rick huffed and crossed his arms at the audacity that the boy had to ignore him, the man who had better things to do than play house.

“Morty, I, I’ve been nice these past few days, bu, but that doesn’t mean that I will not hesitate to drag you on my missions if need be,” Rick glared as the bundle shifted on the floor. Morty was becoming nervous - unsure of his actions. Good. “Now today we, we’re goin’ on an adventure, whether you want ta, to or not. And you have the weight of today’s outcome is on your shoulders righhhhhhhhhhht now Morty.” Morty pulled the covers back a bit, to look at his grandfather’s formidable form.

“Ya, you can get up, get dresses on you own, - because I’m done helping ya – and come to breakfast, and after, we, we’ll go on a super awesome quest.” Morty whimpered. “ Or you can lay here, till I, I’m forced to drag you out of this room. By. Your. Hair. And then I, I’m taking you with me without no breakfast. And I promise I’ll make it as unpleasant for you as possible.” Rick narrowed his eyes. “And trust me when I say, 'I have a lot of experience making people’s lives unpleasant.'”

Morty sat up, visably shaken by Rick’s words. He may not have understood all of what he was saying, but he got the gist of it. It was unnerving to hear Rick’s tone when he had lain out the threats. The cold, calculated, factual representation had chilled Morty to the bone. The yelling and screaming was much better than the cruel actuality promised in those words.

Rick took a swig from his flask, before turning and leaving without a second thought. The door was pulled shut, lightly clicking into the frame. It was worse than if the door was slammed. Morty quickly got up to stiffly browse through his available clothes, while Rick was paralyzed on the other side of the door, his hand still glued to the doorknob.

It was better this way. The boy needed to remain utterly obedient and dependent. It would make things easier in the long run. Make him more willing to go on adventures with him, keep him from questioning what Rick did, or why he did the things he chose to do. At least that was what Rick kept telling himself. It masked the shame that was rekindled from threatening an abused child into compliance. He took a long drink from his flask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to Ginger Ally for the meseeks idea. Like and review for more! If you have anything you want me to add to the story, send me you idea! they’re all welcome! Happy (Late) Halloween!


	6. Breaking Point

p>====

Rick had set the bowls down on the dining room table. Both were filled with the watered down oatmeal, and topped with two slices of bacon. He was rapidly tiring of these bland meals. Rick didn’t like normalcy, and this was what was becoming of his life. Routine; an endless, slightly differentiating, cycle. It was depressing to him. He liked spontaneous events and daring exploration!

Rick sighed and slumped over in his seat. He heard Morty enter the kitchen, and lifted his head when the footsteps stopped. Morty was standing in the archway to the dining room, shyly peeking in. “Dammit Morty, what are you wearing?” It sounded exasperated, though he didn’t intend for it to be. Morty was wearing a light red t-shirt, decorated with a proud white outline of swirled wings in the center, a pair of blue jeans, and some boots. Specifically, light red boots, covered in white polka-dots. His messy hair stuck up in all directions, but was a little more tame than Rick’s. His brown locks reached past his ears, and his bangs were brushing his eyebrows. The horrid haircut seemed to have evened out in the end; perfectly framing the child’s face and giving him an endearing persona of innocence. In short, Morty looked like a girl.

Rick leaned back into the spine of his chair, his head tilting towards the ceiling. He motioned his grandson into the room with a lazy flick of the wrist. Morty moved to take his place at the table. “Should have thrown those boots out, they, they’re irritating.” Morty stared down at the red boots, kicking his feet under the table. Rick groaned. “I didn’t think ya, you could’ve made yourself any more girly if ya tried Morty. At least ya, you got everything on right, matched up the colors and all that shit. At least you’re competent enough to dress ya, yourself. Was getting worried there.”

Morty had already picked the bacon out of his oatmeal, choosing to eat it first. What a surprise. Rick rolled his eyes and began to eat his own food. It was something Rick had noticed early on, Morty loved meat, of any kind really. He had deduced that Morty’s cravings stemmed from eating pet food for an extended period of time. It was all Morty knew; the bold flavors of fruits, sugars, spices, and some strong vegetables, were too foreign for him.

Rick’s grip tightened around his spoon as he watched Morty eat. The boy held his spoon in a fist, like a young child unused to silverware. He ate as silently and quickly as possible, careful not to miss a morsel. Rick was sure that Morty would eat until he made himself sick if his meals weren’t so carefully portioned. The boy had been starved for so long, that his body didn’t yet understand the signals for being full. The kid was a mess, and Rick tried to direct anger at Jerry for Morty’s condition. He couldn’t, all the rage had petered out into a pit of black sympathy.

Rick removed his flask from his coat to take a numbing swig. The kid’s condition didn’t matter to him, as long as he could be an effective shield. It was all Rick could tell himself to keep from falling apart. Falling into the abyss of emotions, of understanding.

====

The portal closed behind them, and Morty’s mouth was hinged open in utter astonishment. He spun to see all this world had to offer him. A new realm of possibilities to distract him from an unforgiving past, and an uncertain future. This moment took his breath away, drowning out all the pain of yesterday, all the trepidation of tomorrow. Morty smiled.

Above him was a peach-colored sky, pinks blended with light yellowish clouds. A sun hung in harmony with two indescribably beautiful moons. Below him was short, blue-green grass, dotted with random wildflowers of enormous variety. This grass grew in long, endless strips stretching between equally endless puddles. The puddles were the size of lakes, so thin and clear, that they reflected the sky and planets and clouds all back at them like a giant mirror. The water was pink from the sky’s reflection and as clear as glass. Transparent and cleaner than anything Earth had to offer. Morty was glad that he wore rain boots.

Spanning across the horizon, Purple trees twisted from the ground. A few small, white, bird-like creatures were perched in the branches. Morty gaped at the world unfolding, breathing the cleanest air he had ever breathed. Wide-eyes he looked back to Rick. His face was as neutral as ever, staring down at him. The expression told Morty that he was thinking about something.

Rick broke eye contact and directed his gaze to the scenery. “Come on Morty. We gotta get going.” And with that his grandpa walked on fearlessly, headlong into the unfamiliar world. It filled Morty with determination. If his grandpa wasn’t scared, he could at least try to be as brave as him. If only for a little while.

Morty followed Rick, boots splashing in the puddles. A small bud of confidence and trust blooming in his chest. Rick was slowly becoming his everything.

====

Rick’s eyes were scanning the fields of flowers, searching for the plant that would give his ship the power to levitate. He shuffled along, his hands buried in his pockets. He could hear Morty skipping after him, taking a route through the puddles instead of staying on the strip of dry land with him. He didn’t worry much, the beasts on this planet were exceedingly rare, and he guessed that he’d be able to spot one effortlessly, considering the world was pretty low on hiding places. He could see the horizon in every direction, no foliage or mountains blocking his range of sight.

Rick couldn’t help but smile to himself as he recalled the wonder plastered on Morty’s face. The boy’s eyes were full of it, the misery erased from his person. It made Rick’s heart swell fondly, knowing that he was the one to cause it. Rick’s smile suddenly fell back into a frown as unwanted emotions bubbled up in his chest.

He growled and reached into his coat pocket for his flask, only to find it missing. A memory floated across his mind; a memory of forgetting it at the kitchen table. Rick face-palmed. Damn it. A bit of frustration itched in his mind, only to be replaced with suspicion. He didn’t hear Morty playing in the water anymore.

Dread consumed his being, like when he had heard Morty in the garage, or the glass in the warehouse. He spun on his heel, freezing in horror. Fear gripping his heart, harder than ever before.

A large, purple beast with protruding fangs, standing a foot away from Morty. The boy was smiling, his arm outstretched to the creature’s snout. Without a second thought, Rick shot forward. He didn’t think about opening a portal to save himself, only about the dreadful monster’s jaws maiming his grandson into unrecognizable gore.

Just as the beast opened it’s maw, Rick’s arms wrapped around Morty’s torso, yanking him backwards into his chest. The creature’s jaw snapped at empty air where Morty’s arm had been. Rick backpedaled, spinning around and sprinting in the other direction. The beast gave an enraged roar, and Rick didn’t dare look back.

Morty hugged his grandfather’s neck as Rick shifted him to one hip. Thank God Morty was so light. His other arm was wildly feeling the inside of his lab coat for the portal gun, he gave a jerky breath as he felt the handle against his fingertips. He pulled the teleporter out and shot a green portal into the air. He heard the monster’s thundering steps behind him as he jumped to safety, the vortex snapping shut in the nick time.

=====

They arrived on a desolate, rocky planet, the sky as black a coal. Rick dropped Morty to the ground, bending forwards to catch his breath. He’d never been so scared in his life. His lungs ached from short, erratic gasps, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Morty sat quietly on the stony surface, his head tilted, eyes confused.

Rick calmed and anger replaced the terror. Morty stood up and flinched as Rick motioned to backhand him. He shut his eyes tightly as he felt the air part around his face, but the blow never landed. Morty opened his eyes warily. Rick had stopped himself, hand centimeters from his cheek. His grandfather was biting his lip, rage contorting his features, literally shaking with it. His hand pulled back and curled into a trembling fist. He took a few steps back and started screaming at the sky.

====

A long time passed, Rick eventually going hoarse from the yells. It took every fiber of his being to stop himself from breaking the boy’s jaw. From destroying everything he had built over the past week. His voice cracked painfully as he rounded on Morty, “I can’t believe how stupid you are.” He closed his eyes. “I, I’m done. Ya, your going to an orphanage, and I’m going to get a new Morty from the Counsel. I, I’m done.” Rick opened a portal to Birdperson’s house and pushed Morty through.

====

Morty arrived at the cream colored dome, and Birdperson invited him in. It was silent between the two, and Birdperson was staring at him like he knew what was going on. Morty sat at the table, staring absentmindedly at the pictures framing Rick on the wall. They showed him younger, happier. It made Morty feel worse.

Morty’s eyes stung with unshed tears, his gut burning with resentment. In Morty’s young mind, Rick was the one who was wrong. The one who overreacted. Morty believed that all animals were good, that they wouldn’t hurt him for no reason. Not like people. He believed that the monster wasn’t going to bite him, that Rick was the one being stupid and unreasonable. Morty hadn’t felt anger in years.

He knew what Rick said to him, he recognized every word. He called him dumb and said he was going to leave him. It hurt, but wasn’t unexpected. After all, everyone he cared about left him in the end.

With a burning desire to prove himself, Morty confronted Birdperson. The man stared down at him, nodding. No words needed to be exchanged. They went to the workshop to together.

====

Rick arrived at Birdperson’s nest hours later. His lab coat was scorched, his hair messier than usual. Holes were torn in his pant-legs, knees scraped to bloody patches. But he got the flowers, and that was all that mattered. He wearily made his way towards the dome, only to find the windows dark. He must be in his shed.

Rick ached all over, his joints creaking sorely. The Galactic Federation had immediately tracked him down after he dropped Morty through the portal. Well, at least he knew the boy’s brainwaves masked his. But that didn’t really matter now, he was gonna get rid of this Morty. Get a new one that wasn’t as much of a dumb-ass.

Light poured through the open doors of the shed, penetrating the darkness of night. He trudged into the shed, finding his dearest friend watching Morty fiddle with a device on the wooden floor. Birdperson raised his head to lock eyes with Rick. “I told you he was smart,” he looked back to Morty. Rick circled around to get a better view. What was going on?

Morty sat cross-legged on the floor with an advanced puzzle in his lap. Twisting and turning the gears, slowly solving the conundrum. Around him were several completed puzzles ranging in difficulty, all above the average human’s comprehension. It was staggering, a nine-year old solving alien puzzles designed to stump advanced races. Rick was snapped out of disbelief by Birdperson’s voice. “He has great potential, you just have to unlock it. Abandoning him will only cause you both great pain.” He took a deep breath. “This child is the only other human whom matches your intellect. The only one who will ever understand,”

Rick knew the double meaning behind Birdperson’s words. He didn’t mean understanding in the sense of intelligence – he meant understanding the pain. Something broke deep down in Rick’s mind. The demons ripping away all of his resolve. It hurt so much… unbearable agony skimming his consciousness. All the hurt he hid so well, coming to a head with lingering emotions. A few tears escaped his eyes, and Birdperson left the shop without another word.

Rick wiped his face. “Come, come on Morty,” he pulled the boy to his feet, the puzzle still held tight within his hands. “We, we’re goin home Morty.” Rick opened a portal to Earth and left with his grandson in tow, all intentions of abandoning him washed away.

====

Birdperson witnessed their departure from the shadows. He hoped that this broken child could heal Rick, in a way that he couldn’t.


	7. In the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished! Thanks for everyone's patience! Iv'e been a little depressed lately with a case of writer's block. A WARNING: Things are going to get a little graphic in this chapter. Bare with me here, the next two chapters are actually going to be happy! Yay, a break from the angst!
> 
> This ones for QuirkyRevelations :)

"He belives in God. He likes to think that maybe it is an angel.

But there are no angels on Edgecombe after dark."

Rick Bragg

In the Night

Sometimes when Morty was in the basement, he would push open the small rectangular basement window. It was much too small to crawl out of; only wide enough for Morty to shove his arm through. It was dirty, and only allowed the barest amount of sunlight to shine into the dark, decrepit pit. Morty liked to think that there was a God, even if he never gave him any help in the past. He had convinced himself that God didn't save him because he just couldn't see him down there. Morty had forced himself believe a lot of things.

For the first few weeks of captivity, Morty had opened the tiny window every time he heard Jerry's car leave the driveway. He would listen for the engine to start up, the wheels rolling down the pavement, and then he would scream. He would scream for help, for mercy, for anyone to come and save him. But nobody ever came... not until Rick, and that was years later.

After a while, he realized that it was the same as before. The only people who cared enough to notice him, were the ones who wanted to hurt him. But that was only people, and people weren't worth much in Morty's eyes. Humans were not to be trusted; animals on the other hand, were. It started with one dog, who barked back at Morty's cries.

Morty would scream for people who would never come, people who he knew had heard him. They never bothered to do anything, and it filled him with more despair than anger. As days passed, the only one who answered him was a lone dog. He would bark at Morty's cries, and his desperate mind would begin to associate the noises with words.

The dogs barks seemed to relay a message saying: "I know you're there. It's okay, I'm here! I'm here!" Even if the thought was completely unreasonable, Morty began to believe the animals were trying to talk to him. He began to howl back.

More time passed, and all the dogs in the neighborhood started to respond to Morty. Every day, when the agony was over, he would speak to the dogs. He would howl and they would howl back. It had become a routine, a twisted way for him to keep his sanity; while simultaneously slipping deeper into an animistic mindset.

It was a fact that Morty couldn't really speak to the dogs, - even if he swore that he could, when it was really a manifestation of his fractured psych – but he did learn to decipher the meanings behind their howls. He picked up on frequencies, each holding a different meaning. He learned which ones meant happy or sad or exited or scared! An amazing example of human perseverance.

Morty knew each dog, and connected with them personally. Even if he would never meet them, he knew who they were from their secret conversations. If only dogs could talk, they could have told their owners the tale of a forsaken boy living in a dungeon. Maybe it would have made the difference, or maybe they would have continued to ignore him. There were always a lot of 'maybes' and 'ifs' in Morty's world.

One day an angry man came to the basement. He looked down at Morty with disgust. Morty thought that the man should really be disgusted with himself for coming to harm a little boy, whose only sin was existing. But the man didn't hurt him, he just left a cup of soup on the dirty cement. Then he left, his boots shaking the wooden steps with the force of his stomps.

As soon as Morty heard the door slam shut, he scrambled forwards in the dark. All light had vanished, so Morty felt for the cup carefully. His fingers brushed the warm glass, he picked the cup up gingerly, pressing the rim to his lips. The steam gave off a magnificent meaty aroma, and Morty drank all of the hot liquid. It was his first real taste of food since he was ushered into the basement, he appreciated it with every fiber of his being.

Morty was more than a little disappointed when he finished the soup, dropping the cup to the floor with a glassy cling. It was an extremely odd development, and Morty realized much too late that he should have thought, before jumping into potential danger. There were also a lot of 'shoulds' in Morty's vocabulary.

Morty panicked when his entire body began to feel as if it was asleep. The tingling you get when sitting on your legs for a while and try to stand up. He tried to shake the numbing feeling from his limbs, but to no avail. Soon the tingling evolved, morphing into total paralysis. His body slumped to the floor, and he was unable to move. He wasn't tired or groggy from whatever drug spiked the soup, no he was completely aware of what was going on. Regret was quickly becoming a theme in his life.

He heard the basement door creak open, synthetic light beaming down the stairs. Morty felt icy fear pump through his veins and he became ill. He managed to catch a small glimpse of the angry man's boots before vomiting all over himself. For a few moments of utter trepidation, he couldn't breath; the sickness blocking his airways, unable to move from the drug.

Morty felt hands on his shoulders, shifting him to his knees so he wouldn't choke on his stomach contents. He heaved a few more times, effectively emptying the rest of his soup onto the floor. He felt dirty, but that was nothing new. After he was finished, events flashed by in a blur. The angry man lifted him from the floor and carried him up the steps. There was a brief exchange of money with his father, then he remembered being taken from the house.

Morty was not able to lift his head, so it dangled uselessly, his view of the outdoors upside down. It was cold, snow blanketing the yard. White puffs of breath escaping his mouth as he was carried to an unmarked, silver van. Everything was hazy, his thoughts glazing over to try and estimate how long he was in the basement. It was starting to get cold the night when Moony died, barely even fall... it was winter now, so how long was that? Morty was snapped out of his stupor when the double doors of the van swung open, displaying a clean, lab-like setup.

He was traded off, lain on a shiny metal table. Around him were various tools of medical origin: sheets of knives and needles, vials of unknown medicines, IV bags connected to shiny, portable poles. The walls were a cool metal, the floor gleaming white with tiles. A built-in counter was to his left, atop it sat a misplaced jar of... dog treats?

Morty heard people talking outside the van, but everything was too fuzzy to decipher. His sense of time was distorted; hours seemed like minutes, seconds seemed like weeks. Reality and vacuity intermingling in an unnatural way. It finally ended when the van bounced with the weight of someone climbing into the back with him, the doors clapping shut.

Morty couldn't lift his head to see who it was, but caught a small peek of the newcomer out of the corner of his eyes. It was a skinny man, with brown shoulder-length hair. He wore an immaculate lab coat and a pair of frameless glasses. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties. He moved around the back ally office with a small, comforting smile on his face. He picked up a sterilized needle, a few glass vials, and some packets of alcohol wipes, before moving to Morty.

He was gentle, lifting Morty's limp arm and rubbing away the grime with the cleansing wipes. The smell of disinfectant was strong and made Morty's eyes water a bit. The doctor noticed it, and gave a sympathetic frown. He wiped away the tears with a damp cloth, shooting him a kind grin after. Morty was dumbfounded. This strange doctor was probably the one who drugged him and who most likely had some nefarious plans for him, but he was acting nice.

It was a welcome gesture, nonetheless. A few more moments of clattering around the van, and the doctor returned with the syringes. He gave Morty another comforting smile, before speaking in a soft voice. A voice you use when speaking to scared animals. He lifted Morty's arm to prick him with the needle.

"It's okay, I'll make it quick." He pulled the plunger, drawing blood. The doctor filled one vial and moved to draw more blood. He smiled. "See, just a few tiny jabs. You're owner wanted me to test you for some nasty diseases. Can't have you infecting his clients, can he? Hmm?" Morty was vaguely aware of what the man was saying, his mind sinking into animalistic ignorance. But he was smart enough to know that he didn't like the way the man spoke to him. Like a dog, like a lesser being, like he was stupid. No matter how nice it was, he wasn't bought over that easy.

The doctor filled another vial and continued, "Don't get me wrong, I'm not one for slavery, but I do believe that people can be considered property." He rolled his wrist, "Humans put way too much value in themselves, doncha' think?" The doctor looked down at Morty as if he was expecting an answer. Well, too bad Mr. Important. Morty sniffed, holding back a few tears. He didn't like where this conversation was going.

"Oh, no, no, no. Don't cry..." He appeared generally concerned, "I'll tell you what, how bout I promise not to sedate you next time we cross paths, hmm? I'll come visit you on my own time and give you a few treats, how's that sound?" Morty felt a stab of anger. He wasn't an animal, no matter how many times he was treated as one. The tingling was slowly ebbing away, but Morty remained still. He was smarter than the doctor thought, and was going to use whatever mobility he had when the time was right. He wasn't going to waste an opportunity as golden as this.

As soon as the doctor turned away, he threw himself off of the table, lunging at the doors. The gateway to his freedom. His calloused hand grappled with the handle, the doctor's supplies clattering as he rushed for Morty. To Morty the click of the latch releasing was deafening, the door swinging open to allow a gush of crisp wind inside.

Morty leaped into the freezing snow, and bolted. He didn't look back, he didn't listen to the man screaming after him.

Morty ran until his feet were numb from the cold. The snow was unforgiving, it burned the soles of his feet with every step. He only wore a threadbare t-shirt and some old underwear, and he was freezing. Morty eventually came across an alleyway and hunkered down in a dry corner. He should have thought this through. But then again, he was free, and he came to terms with this fate. He would die, forgotten in a corner. A nameless child, without love. He was okay with that.

At least the pain would stop.

He was drifting off into a final sleep when he heard the footsteps. He weakly raised his head, only to spot the doctor. There was no anger on his face, it was painted with concern, – fear. He inched closer, before crouching in front of him. Morty remembered that he whispered nonsense promises to him, like his sister had so many months ago. Before this hell.

How he lifted Morty from the icy cement, and how Morty shamelessly clung to the doctor for warmth. The man took him back to the basement, but not before wrapping him in a heavy blanket. Morty hugged the blanket around his body when the man had lain him down. A hand petted his head, then he was gone. The warmth and kindness taken with him.

Morty realized he wasn't ready to die.

The next few days were nothing short of pure hell. Apparently the doctor did not tell his father about his escape attempt, but things were still just as horrible. Beatings and sexual assault were a common occurrence. One or two 'clients' a day had him reeling for reprieve. His mind was a mess of contradictions, he was fighting with the issue of whether he wanted to live or die.

Some parts of his mind would regret allowing the doctor to save him, shaming him for his desperation. The other side had a determined will to live, to keep hoping for a better tomorrow. It all made his head hurt; a child of five shouldn't have these thoughts.

The only redeeming part of the past few days was when the dogs came to visit him. Morty would open his basement window, and he would call for his only friends in the world. They had howled back like usual, all of them sounded like they were doing well – with the exception of one dog wailing from boredom.

But this call ended differently, a dog had come right up to his window that morning. Excitement had swelled in Morty's chest, as the hound jammed his snout into the small opening. He shook as he touched the animal's muzzle, it snuffed and jerked back. A small ball of panic had formed in Morty's gut, a fear that he had done something to make the dog leave. Seconds later, the dog had rubbed it's flank against the window, begging to be petted.

Warmth blossomed in his heart, and he scratched the dog's flank for a long time. Occasionally, the dog would stuff it's nose back down the opening for a few licks, move back enough for Morty to see it's wagging tail, or it would give happy whines. The dog stayed for a long time, eventually laying down by the window. It kept him company until the evening came, and Morty bid it a tearful goodbye. It was a bittersweet meeting, that opened him up to many more.

As the days passed, the dog came back. When it couldn't come for unknown reasons, other dogs began to show in it's place. There was now a variety of mutts that would visit him in the day. It made things much less lonely, even if he only ever met some of the dogs once.

Morty figure that he was becoming more dog than human. He thought that humans were overrated anyways...

Morty awoke that night to a beam of light shining down from the basement stairs. He forced himself up to all fours, letting his blanket pile up on the floor. He waited a long while, but no one came down to hurt him. He decided to investigate, slinking to the base of the stairs. He glance up the high stairwell, his eyes settling on the young doctor.

The man was sitting at the top of the stairs, his head leaning on his hands. He was reading a thick book balanced on his lap, and had yet to notice Morty's presence. What was he doing here? Why was he just sitting there? It unnerved Morty, he did not like change. Routine gave him something to expect and odd actions meant bad things were probably coming his way. He wouldn't realize how right he was until it was much too late.

He crawled up the stairs, as painfully slow as possible. Morty saw the doctor stiffen, then continue to act as if he was engrossed in his book. Eventually Morty made it to the last few stairs, his hands supporting him a step away from the man's shiny, black shoes. The doctor shut his book carefully, making as little noise as possible. It seemed he was being cautious to keep the sound low, fearful he would scare the 'Dog Boy' away.

It made Morty feel powerful in a way because he held some knowledge over this man. He wasn't going to cower like an animal, but the man didn't know that. It made him smile. Control felt good.

The man slowly rose his head, a kind smile plastered on his face. "Why, hello!" He greeted cheerfully. Morty's previous confidence faltered, and he rocked a little on his haunches. Ready to run if things took a turn for the worst. "It's been awhile little guy, I had hoped you didn't forget me." He winked and it made Morty even more uneasy. "Your test results came out fine, no STDs of any kind."

Morty didn't understand the man's words, and made sure to keep his eyes glued to him. Something in the back of his mind told him that this man was very, very bad. He continued talking, "Did you know that we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other? Hmm?" Morty jolted a bit, he definitely understood that.

The man rose to his feet, patting some imaginary dust off of his pants, before looking back down to Morty. "You know, you're the perfect test subject... no family, no one to tell, no one to miss you..." The doctors eyes glazed over in a fantasy. "People are much better for my tests than stray mutts. Lucky for you, you'll be my first human subject! Isn't that grand!"

His smile morphed into something menacing. "I get free rein over you, in exchange for STD tests every few months. You're owner gave me permission to take you back to my lab for a few hours!"

The doctor bent to lift Morty into his arms, "By the way, my name is Dr. Gabriel Fletchinder. We're going to be spending a lot of time together."

A swirl of horrible memories assaulted Morty's subconscious. Injections of unknown drugs that made him hurt. Vomiting, seizures, hallucinations, the sensation of ants crawling under his skin. Some memories were overlapped with being tied to a cold table, blinding lights shining in his eyes. Uncharacteristic kindness, mocking sympathy, overwhelming agony. It all blurred together in one awful nightmare.

Being trapped in a building with rows of dog kennels. Suffering alongside the animals he loved so much. The boy who loved animals, slowly descending into the mindset of one. How the dogs cried and huddled in the corners of their cages. Horribly maimed for a sick scientific theory. A husky with it's eyes melted out by acid; all that was left consisted of two gaping holes. Grotesque uneven stitches littering some mutts, the smell of gangrene. Not bothered to keep their wounds from becoming infected. Dogs that flipped around in muscle spasms, too many experimental drugs poisoning them permanently. Pain, pain, pain. New dogs to replace the dead. The bodies loaded into garbage bags. No, no, no, they were more than trash.

We deserved more.

The flashbacks of experiments soon mixed with bouts of brutal rape and abuse. Hands grabbing him everywhere; hurting him, dirtying him. Taking away all the innocence. So filthy, so worthless.

Morty woke up, his body coated in a thin sheen of sweat. He frantically turned his head, giving a long sigh of relief when he recognized his room. It was dark, the lamp projecting serene blue stars onto the walls. The comforter was much too hot, so he sat up to push it to the side. He swung his legs off the edge of the mattress, his feet resting on the cool carpet. He felt dirty, the men's hands still lingering on his body. He needed a shower.

Morty shakily lifted himself off of the bed, his knees knocking together. He couldn't stop the violent tremors wracking his body. He used the wall as a support as he made his way to the adjoined bathroom. He felt along the wall, flipping the switch on. The light blue bathroom erupted in light, his eyes squinted as they took a few seconds to adjust.

His pajamas were soaked with sweat and Morty decided to let them dry while he bathed. It wasn't worth searching for another pair if day would be coming in a few hours. He left a towel beside the bath, his wet clothes piled on the toilet lid. His fingers shook as he adjusted the taps, the water spurted from the shower head.

Morty climbed in the tub, allowing the cold water to pelt his back. He sat in the bottom, his legs pulled to his chest. He didn't cry, he was much too numb to do so. He wondered if this was what Rick felt when he drank – numb, all the emotions snuffed out. He understood why his grandpa drank. He hurt like he did, but Morty wouldn't dare cross into that territory.

The flashback still whispered across his mind, though the memories were becoming vague. Morty remembered the old mantra he'd thought up during his time with the doctor:

Beware the angel of genocide,

The one who is not what he seems.

Kindness and hope go hand in hand,

With the evilest of schemes.

Dogs fear his gentle hands,

For they know of his wicked plans.

Ulterior motives are part of his game,

His young facade only lets slip a name;

Dr. Gabriel Fletchinder…

The angel of genocide.

Morty shivered at the thought. He guessed that he only knew the doctor for about a year, before he dissapeared completely. Morty didn't know what happened to him, and didn't really care. He was gone, and Morty was here. Here with his grandpa. Things were getting so much more complicated

Morty made his way to the living room. The room was bathed in an dark light, the product of a lamp that sat on the stereo. The only sound aside from his breathing, was the dull creaking of the rocking chair. Rick had his back to him, unaware of his presence. He was sitting alone in the dark, working on a device with half lidded eyes. He fiddled with a screwdriver, rocking idly.

Morty fidgeted and began to think of Ricks motives. How he had to have a hidden agenda like Dr. Fletchinder. He watched as Rick took a swig from a flask sitting on an end table, mumbling under his breath. He was still wearing a lab coat, just like the doctor had. It made him doubt everything he had come to know of the man.

He didn't realize that he'd walked to the front door, until his hand slid across the smooth surface. Morty was thinking about running away. It was ironic, considering how hard he tried the previous day to convince Rick of keeping him. He nearly laughed at that. Flashes of the dead dogs and of all the humans who'd let him down crossed his consciousness.

If he stayed, it meant that Rick had power over him. It meant that Rick could do whatever he wanted to him. The idea scared him a lot. Morty couldn't handle any more betrayal. He felt as if he were drowning in a sea of uncertainty. All he learned from the doctor was that people who were nice, always acted so because they wanted something.

Morty's eyes shifted back to Rick, still rocking quietly in the next room. Was all the stuff that happened fake? The bath, the adventure, the food, the long talks, every single touch? It couldn't be... Rick came back for him and didn't hurt him. He could've beat him after running away from the beast. He could have touched him during his bath. He comforted him after he'd hurt himself throughout the week. He needed Rick. What would he do if he went away. He'd die, he couldn't do it. You couldn't give someone so hurt something so wonderful and snatch it all away.

Morty decided that he couldn't leave. Rick was so much like him... maybe that was why he was here. He needed someone like Morty needed someone. Maybe they could be alone together? The revelation comforted Morty. Someone who understood what it was like to hurt. It was almost too good to be true. He hoped that it wasn't.

Rick tried to concentrate on his invention, tried to take his mind off of the fact that they were out of food. The reality of everything that had happened yesterday. It turned out this Morty was special; he was a genius. Beyond that of any other human but himself. A sick part of his mind reveled in the truth that his Morty really being better than all the others. He almost rejoiced at the thought of rubbing it in every other Counsel Rick's face. He was in fact, the best Rick after all.

He ended up dropping the device on the side table, swapping it for his flask of alien alcohol. Rick took a long swig, the substance burning his throat. He was surprised it hadn't burned a hole through his trachea of liver yet. He placed the flask in his coat and got out of the chair, his back popping as he stretched for the first time in hours.

After they returned, Rick had given Morty a cold bowl of leftover oatmeal and sent him to bed. The day had been mentally taxing on Rick. Hell, he cried. He never cried. He shook the though from his head and went to turn the lamp off before making his way to bed. Just as he was about to shut the light off, he heard a muffled thump, followed by the sound of a car peeling out in the street.

Curiosity peeked, Rick made his way to the front door. He hadn't spoke to Morty since the confrontation earlier that day, and wanted to keep it that way for a while. At least until tomorrow. A few emotions slipped past his drunkenness, and he took a swig from his flask to calm them down. That shit could wait, not tonight. Just not tonight.

Rick opened the front door, at his feet was a package. What could this be? Rick crouched to pick it up, scanning it with a device to make sure it wasn't an explosive. He'd made a staggering amount of enemies over the years. When it was deemed safe, he tore the tan envelope open. He pulled a large wad of money from the package and narrowed his eyes.

He dropped the envelope to the stoop, fingering the bills. Rick counted five grand. He immediately knew where it came from. Jerry was bribing him. He snorted and looked up and down the street, before closing the front door. Relief seeped into his chest. He and Morty had food money. Right now it didn't matter where it came from or why. All that was important was that he could feed his grandson.

Rick's pride told him to track Jerry down and make him suffer for eternity, but his fondness for Morty was overriding it. For now they needed to eat and stay sheltered. Even if it meant that Rick had to swallow his pride. It was a big step, putting someone above his own self interests. His own desires. But he had a kid to think about now, what was best for Morty.

Rick would go shopping in the morning, when he got over the blow to his self-esteem. He was shuffling to his bedroom when his eyes settled on Morty. The boy was standing at the basement door, staring down into the dark depths. His eyes were wide and terrified, paralyzed at the top step. He couldn't begin to even fathom what the boy was thinking. The horrors that the dungeon brought to the kid's mind. Rick had alcohol to numb away the pain, but Morty had nothing. It made him feel weak.

"Morty, it, it's time to go to bed little buddy." Rick wasn't sure what he was supposed to say in this situation. He was slow to approach Morty, procrastinating the inevitable confrontation. "I, it's okay Morty. I, imma not gonna let anything happen to ya." As he got closer he saw the dark spot on Morty's pajama pants and a puddle beneath his feet. The kid had wet himself.

Morty sniffled, holding back tears. His eyes locked with Rick's. Fear and desperation and shame. In the back of Rick's mind he knew that all the traumatizing things that happened to his grandson wouldn't just go away, but he still tried to pretend that they would. "I, I'm sorry this happened to ya Morty." He rubbed the back of his head. "I thought that I could fix it all. But I, I can't, and I'm sorry." Rick never apologized, he was a man without fault, – at least he though he was – but this situation shook him to his core. It was something he couldn't fix. Rick, the most brilliant mind in the universe, in multiple dimensions, couldn't mend a little boy's broken mind.

He could destroy universes and create them with minimal effort, invent a gun that turned people into snakes, move through separate dimensions, and so much more. But he couldn't help anyone, not even himself.

Morty had been cleaned up and put to bed. It was silent between the two during the entirety of the motions. Rick laid in his twin bed, thinking. His mind was just as twisted as Morty's, but he needed booze to cope. He stared at the flask sitting on his dresser. Maybe he could cut back a little, for the kid. He would fix this, even if it killed him.

They could be better together.


	8. Unspoken Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Hatius over!
> 
> Sorry about the long break everyone, but I have been dealing with some depression. I actually hope to get the next chapter out by the end of today; so cheer me on!
> 
> Also, upcoming contest! Check the bottom for a description!

“Only trust someone who can see these three things in you: The sorrow behind your smile, the pain behind your love, and the reason behind your silence.”

Unknown

Unspoken Trust

The streets were bustling with a wide array of people from all walks of life. Aliens from unfamiliar worlds intermingling in a crowd without a care, among the bright neon signs and pastel colored buildings. It was a harmony between species, on a world that segregated the rich and the poor. It was ironic if you asked Rick. A planet without racism that ostracized the lower classes. So many different peoples able to live peacefully, but at the same time, extort the less fortunate. It was one of the many reasons that Rick did not believe in world peace; why he was labeled an anarchist by the Galactic Federation.

A few signs levitated above them, advertising various products. Dark green leaves crunched beneath his shoes. They had fallen from the large, purple trees that rose from the sidewalk. He took a pull from his flask, feeling small tugs at his lab coat. He craned his neck back to look at his grandson; Morty was following obediently. He gave a sigh of both relief and frustration.

Morty held tight to the tail of his coat with one arm, the other grasping a stick which he was dragging across the sidewalk, occasionally bumping up against garbage cans. At least he’s keeping pace. It was disconcerting how the boy acted around other people. He cowered and clung to Rick like a leech, refusing to give him any breathing room. Rick was not used to this. He took another sip from his flask.

Rick wouldn’t have to worry about Morty getting lost or wondering away, but at what cost? He glanced at Morty once more, the kid was avoiding the scattered leaves; frightened to step on them. As if the ambient crunching would wake an unknown beast to come down on them. He had a white-knuckled grip on the coat, but tried to appear like he was busy playing with that interesting stick. Rick snorted. The boy was very good at hiding his emotions, Rick would give him that much.

As they passed aliens along the way, Morty swerved to avoid physical contact with creatures that appeared male. Rick noticed the wariness, he was too good at picking up on things. Sometimes he wished that he could trade his paranoia for a little bit of ignorance. Ignorance is bliss, right?

Rick was all too aware that his grandson feared being sexually assaulted. It pulled on his heartstrings to imagine people bigger and stronger than the boy, forcing their sick fantasies on him. People who preyed on those weaker than them sickened him. He took yet another pull from his flask. The people who didn’t have the guts to face someone their own size made him absolutely sick. Morty knew that there were bad people out there, he knew all too well that there were evil bastards waiting to hurt him. Something a child his age should be none the wiser about. But Morty knew.

The stupidly fearless, outgoing, happy boy from the first adventure was gone. Leaving behind a scared, shy, husk of what he once was. It was a huge step back, but a necessary detour. Morty had to learn to be around others, he had to understand that not all people were bad. Rick groaned when Morty tripped over a cup, nearly pulling him backwards as he fell.

Morty let go of the coattail, standing back up as Rick tapped his foot impatiently. He looked up to his grandfather and gave him a sheepish smile. Rick’s lips twitched in response, his eyes settling on the stick. Morty caught his gaze and turned to find the flimsy wood snapped in half, obviously broken in the stumble.

Morty only paused for a moment, a blank look on his face, before gripping the coat once more – ready to continue on. The stick forgotten in an instance. Rick resumed the trek, thinking to himself. He wouldn’t admit that he was a little proud that the kid didn’t burst into tears, like a normal kid would have. But Morty was anything but normal. He had proven himself much more… he wasn’t just a shield like the others. No, he was worth much more. A genius among idiots. A smart Rick with a smart Morty was unheard of. It just didn’t happen.

Rick pondered for a bit, before settling on a suitable conclusion. He was in fact, the smartest of all the other Ricks. Of course it meant that he was destined to have a prized Morty to accompany him. One that didn’t whine and could learn the things that he could teach. They were the perfect match, regardless of this Morty’s current mental state. When he fixed this Morty, they would become unstoppable.

Rick suddenly halted, Morty bumping up against his legs. He glanced around to make sure that they were going in the right direction, before making a quick u-turn into the street. He didn’t bother to wait for a walk signal or traffic light, opting to just walk across the busy highway. As they crossed over the curb, Morty gave a startled noise that Rick decided to ignore.

Hover vehicles jerked to a stop or narrowly swerved past the pair. Through this mayhem, Rick didn’t pick up his pace, or slow, or even flinch. Halfway across the road, a vehicle came particularly close to reaming them. It was barely able to stop in time, it’s bumper inches to Morty’s knees – so close that the boy could feel the heat radiating from the engine. His anxiety snapped and he fisted his grandfather’s coat, collapsing in a heap of panicked breaths.

A few pedestrians stopped to stare, while Rick just looked down at his grandson. Morty sat on the road, hyperventilating; the pressure finally crushing him. Honestly, Rick had saw it coming before they had even left for the city. The sounds, the people, and a near death experience, were bound to make the boy break down.

Rick gave an unworried sniff as he bent to Morty’s level, aliens screaming at him from their cars. He pried the boy’s fingers from his coat and lifted him off of the ground, then made it safely to the sidewalk.

 

—–

 

Morty couldn’t breath. Rick had lifted him from the pavement and carried him to a nearby bench, sitting with him on his lap. The danger was over, he wasn’t dead or hurt, but everything fell apart anyways. Morty’s head was tilted back, staring into the purple sky. He was gasping for air, unable to get enough. It was all too much! There were too many people, they wanted to hurt him, to do bad things to him.

He had tried so hard to be brave like Rick, like on the other planet with the lakes, but he couldn’t. Not when there where so many people to keep track of, so many ‘ifs’ and 'maybes’! He was going to mess up, to get separated from his grandpa… then they would get him. The edges of his vision darkened and blurred, as he looked to Rick for some help. Rick gave him a blank stare, an uncaring expression on his face.

An-And then they were walking across the street, and the cars were blaring their horns, and moving passed them, and almost hitting them! Then the aliens started to scream at them and stare at them and whisper bad things about them. Morty’s gripped Rick’s blue shirt, terror engulfing his being. He felt arms wrap around him, pulling him into his grandfather’s chest.

Morty heard the steady heartbeat; calm and collected. Unlike his own that was threatening to burst from his rib cage. Rick exhaled, realizing that the boy wasn’t going to snap of this on his own. “Lo, look, I need ya, you to listen real good Morty. Ya hear? Reeeeeeeeeeeeeal good.” Morty felt the vibrations of the words echoing throughout his body.

“Nu, now Morty… ya, your havin’ a panic attack, okay?” There was a brief pause, allowing the words to sink in. “Bu, but it’s gonna be fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. I, I need you to breath with me kid. Nice and easy.” Morty pressed his face deeper into Rick’s chest, “Ju, just copy me, and breath… don’t pass out on me Morty.” Rick stopped talking, staring down at Morty who was shaking from the lack of oxygen.

Morty was holding on by a thread, clinging to the words like they were a lifeline. He tried to even out his breathing, feeling each long breath Rick took. After a few coughs of exasperation, he felt heat bubble up in his throat. His arms felt as though they were weighted down by led, as he used all of his remaining strength to push away from his grandfather.

—-

 

It was obvious that Rick wasn’t expecting the outburst, as Morty careened backwards off of his lap and onto the pavement. Rick winced as Morty’s head hit the cement with a sickening crack. He was just rising off of the bench, when Morty rolled to his hands and knees. For a moment Rick was worried that the kid was having some sort of flashback or an irrational spur-of-the-moment idea; or in laments terms – he was scared that the kid was going to bolt, and that he would have to chase him down in the busy streets of an alien planet. But, the kid didn’t jump up to run, he just vomited up everything in his stomach.

Rick groaned an pinched the bridge of his nose. At least the kid stopped with all that hyperventilating bull-crap. Morty heaved a few more times, before settling back on his heels and burying his face in his hands. Rick stared down at him for a while. Now would be a wonderful time to come in like a good grandparent, comfort him and heap on a whole bunch of false promises and ideology on the boy. But Rick never said that he was a good grandparent – hell, he wasn’t even a moderate babysitter.

Rick shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoes for an awkward moment of indecision. He felt around his pockets, his hand brushing up against the butt of his laser gun, before settling on his flask. It was something new, the laser gun. After the last disaster of a first outing, he had decided that he needed protection.

It was something that he rarely bothered with before returning to Earth, Rick wasn’t one for clogging up his coat with weapons. Sure, he had an entire armory tucked away at the warehouse for emergencies; a collection that would make intergalactic assassins drool, and the Federation’s cronies have mild heart attacks.

Rick knew that he could protect himself in a dangerous situation, it was his specialty. Bullshitting his way out of tough spots. He just took the enemies weapon and used them for the time needed. Rick was an amazing fighter, who was not below playing dirty. To Rick, if fighting dirty kept you alive, it was something to be used. Hell, his lack of any and all morality is probably what helped him survive all this time.

On the darker aspect, he may not take weapons with him because of his shaky resolves. Rick did not care if he died. If he was killed, then whoop-de-doo; it was over and he was long gone. But now he had Morty to look after. Unlike the other Ricks, whom could do whatever they damn well pleased; C-124 had responsibilities now. The other’s Mortys were fourteen or older, and had a family to fall back on if their Rick died. However, his Morty was a nine-year old with no one.

Rick felt something akin to sympathy, maybe apathy… or even pity. He wasn’t really paying attention when Morty finally stumbled to his feet, still caught up in his thoughts. His eyes were still wondering the streets, - the action was partially from his constant paranoia, though mostly due to the fact that he didn’t want to face his grandson – when Morty finally decided that he was going to bolt.

Rick paused for a second, his mind not registering what was happening, before lunging after the boy. “Goddammit Morty!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Contest Time!
> 
> I am hosting a contest for my Iridescent fanfic, so hold on to your seats, cause we’re going for a ride!
> 
> YOU the reader, will have the opportunity to have your own chapter in this story. You give me a summary or idea and it will become a chapter!
> 
> Now all you need to do is send me a PM or write me a review with your unique chapter name and a unique quote. That’s it. The winner will get a chapter in my story (insert jazzhands)
> 
> RULES:
> 
> No jerry chapters
> 
> No Summer
> 
> No rick/morty porn (seriously he’s nine and related)’
> 
> This is your chance to literally request anything! A chapter on cute fluffiness, awkward conversations, tragic sobbing heartbreak? IM GAME. So let’s get this show on the road!


	9. Cruelty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! New chapter!
> 
> This was supposed to come out the day after the last, but people kept sending me harassing PM messages and it made me rewrite the whole thing multiple times. I can take constructive criticism, but if you have to go out of YOUR way to send me a nasty PM because YOU know that if you posted it in the normal reviews people would call you out for it... Don't do it. If you can't take people getting mad at you back, you shouldn't be sending mean things.
> 
> Alright! Done with my rant. The winner of the Chapter Contest is listed below if your interested! A huge thank you to all that entered, I really appreciate it. Enjoy a chapter of tough Morty and Rick being a dick.

"Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen"

Orhan Pamuk

Cruelty

This was not how he wanted today to turn out. Rick chased after his asinine grandson, weaving through the crowd and receiving a few yells as he shoved aliens out of his way. Why the hell did he think that this was a good time to run away!?They were on another fucking planet! A relatively safe planet, but Morty didn't know that.

Rick sent a bug-like alien sprawling into some sort of stand, trinkets clattering across the sidewalk. Was he going to pull this shit every goddamn time they went somewhere? THIS, now this was a stupid move. Hell, the sheer idiocity of the action made him feel like his IQ was dropping.

Though they were most likely the only humans on the planet, Rick struggled to keep sight of Morty. The boy was just so damn small. The kid could fit through even the smallest gaps in the crowd, even going so far as to run underneath the legs of some of the taller beings. The only thing Rick was grateful for at this point, was that Morty had decided to wear a white shirt along with those red polka-dot boots. It helped Rick distinguish him from the mass.

Rick was trying to keep up, because right now, he literally couldn't lose Morty. Not because he was worried that the crowd would swallow him whole, but for his own well being. If he lost the kid, he always had the DNA tracker to find him. The problem lied within the fact that he didn't know how far away he could get from Morty, before the boy's brainwaves would stop shielding him.

Rick only knew snippets about all Mortys shielding abilities, the tidbits he picked up out of earshot on his rare visits to the Council of Ricks. He was not about to let the boy bring the entire Galactic Federation down on them.

The thick bustle finally broke, and he was sent into a clearing. It was a vibrant town square, that he guessed was the center of the wealthiest side of the city. Rick had lost sight of Morty, so he did a quick spin, scanning the area.

The square was surrounded by trees that greatly resembled Earth's cherry blossoms, large and intimidating, with dark purple petals that fluttered across the clearing. Below him, the ground was studded with smooth, shiny stones; fitted together to form a mosaic flower that matched the trees petals. A few fancy cafes and park benches were arranged in a semi-circle around the entire square.

Rick finally caught sight of his grandson standing off to the side, a panicked expression on his face, as his head swung back and forth, trying to identify possible threats. The kid's back was to him, which made it easier to walk up on him.

A light breeze sent loose blossoms flying, just as Rick came closer to the boy. The wind caused Morty to turn around, and his eyes held a flicker of recognition mixed with wild fear.

Rick cursed when Morty's body lurched forward to run, and he lunged for him; his fingers managing to catch the collar of Morty's shirt. The force jerked Morty backward, and into the the ground, Rick losing his footing and tumbling down with him. Rick landed hard on his ass, Morty on his back.

Morty lifted himself up on his elbows, dazed. In a second, Rick was over him, gripping his shoulders, their faces nearly nose to nose. Rick noticed some movement in the corner of his eyes, but ignored it.

"How stupid are you Morty! You cant just run off li-" He was too late to notice Morty's fingers curling around a loose stone. He brought it forward, slamming it into Rick's face with all of his strength.

Stars exploded behind Rick's eyes, letting go of Morty's shoulders and reeling back. "Fuck, that hurt you little bastard!"

Blood gushed from Rick's nose, and before he could stop his grandson, Morty wriggled out from beneath him and bolted into an alley. Rick growled, scrubbing his face with his sleeve and effectively staining it bright red. Was he just getting rusty? Because he getting his ass handed to him by an underweight nine-year old.

Rick stood up and rolled his shoulders, feeling his bones grind against each other. A few people were staring. "Got something to look at!? Huh!?" He startled them, and they began to pretend to go back to their normal business. Typical.

He headed off towards the alley. All right, now he was angry, and he couldn't be held responsible for anything that happened when he got his hands on Morty.

\----

Rick stood staring at the dead end of the alley. He took a moment, trying to catch his breath. At the back wall of the alley there was a small space that separated two buildings; a gap that he was sure that Morty had managed to wedge himself in.

Rick groaned and kicked a metal trash receptical. It gave a satisfying rattling sound, crashing to the cement. Pissed was an understatement; he was absolutely livid.

As he reached the gap, he felt the inside of his coat for his flask. Rick pulled it from his jacket with shaky hands, only to find it empty. He gave made an annoyed noise, before shoving it back in his pocket. He was going through withdrawals, and he knew it. And he certainly knew it was making him edgy as fuck. His temperament and control was shot to hell.

Rick gazed into the dark space, his eyes adjusting to focus in on his Morty. Wild eyes; they were the first thing he locked on to. Just like the day he retrieved his grandson from the basement. Wonderful, he was reverting back to the way he was when they first met. He'd pushed too hard. Morty held his stare, giving a deep warning growl.

Rick sniffed, the blood drying under his nose becoming more of a reminder of what happens when he lets his guard down. He underestimated the kid, but he wasn't one to be fooled twice. Rick learned from his mistakes, adapted and survived.

Rick had three options: carve his way through the building with his laser gun and risk a collapse, leave this Morty here to fend for himself, or attempt to talk him back into his senses. Maybe a few bribes of food or physical contact? God knows the boy craved it.

He gave an attempt at reaching for his grandson through the small space, going up to his shoulder and pressing his face against the side of the building. He couldn't reach. Though Rick already knew he wouldn't make it. Wishful thinking?

Rick took a deep breath, reciting a few lines in his head. Alright, something reassuring, something to lure the little fucker close enough to grab. Morty's eyes sized him up as he straightened out. He hoped that the kid still retained some grasp of language. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Lu, look Morty, I know the universe is a big, scary place," Rick pulled his hands from his pockets to make quotations with his fingers. "Bu, but you have to learn to dea, deal with it. Grandpas gonna be he, here to guide you through all this, but ya, you can't keep runnin' off like this Morty." He crouched down to Morty's level and the kid inched closer. Just a little more.

"I, I'm not angry Morty." Rick outstretched his hand and Morty scooted towards him. He was lying through his teeth, he was going to wring the kid's neck when he got hold of him. "I, It's okay, grandpa's not gonna hurt you." Oh, he was so going to hurt him. Rick's lips strained with a gentle smile. Morty moved closer.

Just as Morty came within reach, the boy shot out of the crevice and between Rick's legs. Rick whirled around, snatching Morty's forearms before he could escape back into the city. He pulled them over the kid's head so that Morty couldn't get his body in to bite. Morty struggled, panicked cries echoing in the alley.

Rick glanced nervously towards the square. The kid was making too much noise; he was going to attract unwanted attention. He had to defuse this situation. Now.

Rick gave a hard yank at Morty's arms, and he squeaked before quieting. Rick lowered himself down to Morty's level and the boy flinched away as Rick forced him to maintain direct eye contact. "Don't you understand?" He hissed, his voice toning to a whisper. "You don't have a choice in this Morty. You have to do whatever I say, go wherever I want."

Morty tried to pull away as Rick's face got closer to his, and Rick tightened his grip on Morty's wrists. He should stop. He should stop NOW. He was going to say something horrible, he felt it thrumming in his chest. But he couldn't, because somewhere deep down he wanted to make Morty hurt. Hurt like he did – to drag the boy down with him.

"And if ya, you don't like it, why do, don't you go cry to your Mommy or Daddy?" His voice rose with the words, and regret was already digging hooks into him. Stop. Stop. STOP! "Oh right," he mocked. "Mommys dead an, and Daddy doesn't give a damn!"

The whole world seemed to have paused. Rick dropped Morty's arms, taking a step back, like he was burned by his own calculating cynicism. Morty stared up at him with a heaving chest, clarity returning to his eyes. He knew what Rick had said. It felt like a knife digging into his heart. Betrayal flashed in his grandson's eyes, mixed with broken innocence and misery.

Morty slid back against the wall and curled into a ball; burying his head in his knees. Rick ran his hands through his hair, his mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts. This is why he couldn't be sober, he couldn't control himself when he was sober. He could feel guilt when he was sober. He sighed, hands returning to his pockets.

"Lu, look Morty," Morty didn't raise his head. "My daughters dead, my wife left me, and most of the universe hates my guts." He fiddled with a loose screwdriver in his pocket, eyes lowered to the ground. "Uh, I don't want to add you to that list." Morty rose his head a little.

Rick rubbed his nose with the back of his sleeve, some dried blood coming loose from the friction. "Sorry kid, but I'm all you've got. Thems the breaks."

Morty shifted, uncurling. He lifted his arms up to his grandfather, still hesitant. Rick exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding in, and went to pick Morty up. As the boy's arms wound around his neck, Rick shifted him to one hip and headed out of the alley. All was forgiven.

Rick didn't feel worthy of such forgiveness.

\----

Evening was fast approaching and Rick was making his way to the rundown side of town. He passed a bar lit up with neon lights, and was sorely tempted to drop everything to get a drink. One hand was occupied, cradling Morty to his side; the other was twitching from alcohol withdrawals. It could wait till they were back home.

Rick felt Morty's chest rise and fall with slow breaths, his arms loosely wrapped around Rick's neck. He had fallen asleep shortly after the chase fiasco. Rick guessed that the adrenaline had quickly worn off, dropping the kid like a fly. The streets were getting darker as he continued; not because of the slinking nighttime, but because of the descent into the poorer slums of the city.

The bright advertisements and colorful signs were dissipating as they crossed the thin line between the rich and the less fortunate. The crowds thinned before eventually trickling to nothing more than the occasional prostitute dotting each block. Smoke poured from the stacks of old factories, polluting the air. Graffiti marking gang territories and proclaiming rebellion. Old crumbling apartments mashed together, a parallel of the freshly painted buildings that were seemingly a world away.

Rick stopped at a food cart that was selling the alien equivalent of meat dumplings. He placed Morty on his feet, shaking him awake. Morty blinked blearily up at Rick. Rick cracked hid back, before dropping a few coins in a jar sitting atop the cart. The vendor – a green alien with multiple arms and red bug eyes – filled a small box with the alien food.

Morty was fisting his pant leg, still oblivious to his surroundings in a state between consciousness and sleep. He rubbed his eyes lazily, leaning into his grandfather's warmth. Morty was way too clingy for Rick's liking, and he hoped the food would distract the kid long enough to give him a break.

Rick pushed the box into Morty's hands and headed down the street. Morty followed. He was confident Morty would eat the food, considering the meat content. He watched his grandson out of the corner of his eye, and the boy doing the same. It made no sense: one minute the kid was running from him, the next he was clinging to him like a leech.

Rick almost jumped for joy when the shop came into view. Finally, an end in sight to this grand fucking day. He couldn't wait to go home and drink himself into oblivion.

\----

Morty sat outside the shop, watching Rick through the glass door. Apparently there was a strict 'No kids allowed' rule that the shopkeeper refused to let slide. After giving Morty firm warnings along the lines of 'If you move your ass from this spot, I swear to God I'll get you a baby leash', Rick entered the store to bargain with the keep.

Rick occasionally glanced back from the counter, to make sure he was still there waiting. Morty rocked back and forth, holding the box of food Rick had given him. Anxiety gnawed at his gut. He had ran away today. Ran away from the only person he had. Most of the memory was a blur, even though it had happened only hours ago.

Morty could recall getting sick all over the sidewalk, and then he panicked. Everything morphed back into the basement, like a nightmare, but he was awake. Then Rick had him on the ground and it wasn't Rick anymore. It was the men from the basement, and he had picked up a loose stone before he knew it – slamming it into his attackers head.

All he could think of was that he was not going to be a victim ever again, that he was never going to let them hurt him ever again. He messed up.

Morty looked in at Rick. He was getting animated in the heat of bargaining, using over the top hand gestures and switching between languages. Morty's stomach ached with hunger and he opened the box in his lap. He ate one of the doughy spheres after inspecting it thoroughly. It was a weird flavor, sort of like a mix of chicken and beef. They were bland and unseasoned to Morty's relief, so he ate another.

He stared across the street at a gathering of some girls. Well, at least they appeared to be girls. They were aliens of course, one lime green and round, another tall and dark purple. They were looking at him and discreetly whispering to each other. Morty shifted uncomfortably.

There was a rustling sound to his left, followed by the metallic crash of a garbage can tipping. Morty was torn between wanting to investigate and running into the store after his grandpa. He jolted at a high-pitched yelp that carried over from the can. Morty observed curiously, and his breath hitched at the creature shuffling out of the trash.

A lifetime of fond recollections filled his heart. One word ringing in his fractured mind.

Doggy!

A small alien puppy lifted it's head in his direction, nose twitching at the smell of food. It caught sight of Morty and slunk after him. It had green fur, underbelly speckled black. A few large black spots decorated it's coat like a beagle. It had long ears nearly trailing the ground, and a long tail that whipped around with the flexibility of a cat.

Morty set the box of alien food on the cement, as the puppy closed in. It's eyes were odd: white irises that were ringed with black, catlike in appearance. It sniffed at him and wagged it's tail, giving a small yip. The sound of it's bark was different, almost haunting. It sounded like the reverberations given when a person screamed into a metal can, or the echoes of a cave.

The puppy took no time in burying it's face in the box. Morty reached out and ran his hands through it's fur. He was trembling with joy. It had been so long since he'd touched a dog. His eyes burned with tears. The puppy finished and Morty hauled it into his lap, his hands running up and down the creature, as if to assure himself it was still there.

Doggy,doggy, doggy! Excitement washed over him.

\----

Morty was standing his ground, the puppy hugged to his chest. Rick had finished his shopping, walking out of the store to find Morty with a yaught hound.

"No Morty. No goddamned way." He stared up at his grandfather defiantly. "You don't even know what that thing is Morty!" He gestured toward the dog in Morty's arms.

"That's a yaught hound Morty. The, those things are made to rip people apart. Sure it's all cute and fluffy nu, now, but that things gonna turn into a killer Morty!" He went to grab at the creature and Morty backed away. Rick ran a hand down his face. "Morty, level with me here. These things get bigger than any Earth dog you've ever seen."

Morty still shook his head, shaking a bit from fear. He wasn't sure if it was fear for himself or his new friend. He could tell that Rick was getting irritated, but he had to save this puppy. It was like him, all alone in the world. Morty knew what it was like not to be saved. Maybe that was why he had to save the puppy. Because he saw himself in it.

Rick crossed his arms. "Alright, how bout because I am the adult and I get to make the decisions Morty. Remember the little discussion we had back in the alley Morty?" He leaned in, snatching the puppy out of Morty's arms and dropping it on the stoop of the store. It whimpered and Morty cried out, his arms outstretched in it's direction.

Rick opened the swirling green portal back to their world, and dragged Morty behind him; now screaming in protest and digging his heals into the pavement.

Morty attempted to bite him, and Rick shoved Morty backwards. He almost fell, but righted himself to meet Rick's eyes. Morty fought to keep his glare and not flinch away, as Rick bent forward to face him, hands on his knees. "Okay Mooooooorty," He drug out his name with a condescending twist. "If you want the dog sooooooooooo bad, just say it."

Rick's eyes narrowed, challenging him. It was a dirty, dirty blow. And Rick knew it was. Morty's mouth hung open in exasperation, and Rick gave a smug smile. Rick put a hand to his ear, mocking him. "What? I thought so."

Rick snorted and stood back up. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the portal, before turning on his heel. "Come on Morty."

"R-r-rick." It came out butchered, Morty's vocal cords scratchy from years of misuse. Rick stilled mid step, stiff as a board. He didn't turn around.

Morty still had no idea how to connect words, and his grasp on language was slipping through his fingers from the desperation. "Duh-d-dog-ee, Ru-rick. D-doggy." Morty felt the tears rolling down his face as he lifted the dog back into his arms. It licked the tears from his chin.

Rick never turned around, but his shoulders slumped. He mumbled and then raised his pitch high enough for Morty to hear. "Yeah Morty, Doggy." Morty could tell that Rick was forcing his voice to stay even, but he failed and they came out all wobbly. "Lets go home."

Morty followed Rick through the portal, his doggy safely cradled in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit I cried a little at the end. Reviews help me update quicker! Next chapter is the Fan Chapter from the contest!
> 
> The winner is QuirkyRevelations! Congratulations! Next Chapter is yours!
> 
> Second is MyLovelyShadow! I just want to let you know that the only reason I didn't pick your story is because I have something EXTREMELY similar planned in the far future. So technically, parts of you idea will pop up in the far future ;) I'll use your quote on the next chapter as a honorable mention.
> 
> Third is tied between the anonymous reviewer from Tumblr (you know who you are), and Kitty9!


	10. The Beacon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell. Twelve hours straight of writing this chapter.
> 
> Rick reflects on his decisions in this chapter, and character development out the ass.
> 
> The last chapter has to be my least favorite, I knew it was going to be before I even started writing it. If you noticed a lot of mistakes or repetition, it was because I couldn't even bring myself to care enough to grammar check it. I can't wait for chapter 12, I'm going to tell everyone in advance that it is my favorite chapter!
> 
> Here's QuirkyRevelation's chapter, with Mylovelyshadow's quote! I hope you enjoy ;)

"Hope is the only thing stronger than fear."  
Suzanne Collins

The Beacon

Rick sat on the couch, reverse engineering an old alien scanner that he had bought from the dealer that day. It was dark, his only light the lamp that he had moved to the coffee table. He cursed to himself when the device suddenly sparked, before spouting a small flame. Rick blew it out and reached for his fourth bottle of alcohol; the previous three upturned on their sides, occasionally rolling across the table as he shifted.

Crouched over his invention, he idly reached out to turn the knob of a small radio. Light static filled the room as he settled on an appealing channel. Soft rock music, barely above a whisper, lulled him back to concentration. He took a long swig from his bottle.

Rick glanced down at Morty, the cool bottle still held by in his hand by the neck. His grandson was sitting on the floor, his cheek pressing solidly against Rick's leg. He had fallen asleep like this, after hours of watching Rick fiddle with a few different inventions – all of which he quit working on halfway through, as he methodically grew board of each one.

He turned his attention back to the scanner, when Morty let out a pathetic whimper. Rick sighed and unconsciously set the beer bottle down on the table with a clink, letting his free hand fall to run his fingers through his grandson's hair. Morty tensed for a moment before sinking into the touch, his breathing deepening and his body going limp. He fell back into his dreamless sleep, the horrifying nightmares sinking.

For once, Rick felt content; relaxed even. Maybe it was the influx of alcohol on his system after being - what he considered – sober for most of the previous day. He stretched and looked over to the digital clock under the television. It was past one in the morning. It was late, but Rick's insomnia kept him up. That night Morty had refused to leave Rick, sure that his rebellion on the other planet was going to cause his grandfather to abandon him.

Rick grumbled. Well, lets just add abandonment issues to the list of 'Shit-that-fucked-up-his- grandson'. Damn. He took another swig from his bottle, before popping the cap off some vodka. He filled his flask with the heavy liquid and tucked it back in his coat. Rick's foot brushed up against a half solved alien puzzle Morty had left on the rug, and he guessed that his grandson was going to wake up with one hell of a stiff neck from that position.

The puppy Morty had doted on slept in the kitchen, tired out by the journey. It was one of the reasons that Rick had not thrown Morty in bed like usual; he was nervous that the creature would tear the boy's throat out if left alone with him. Tonight he would monitor the damned thing, and if it behaved Rick may allow it live.

Rick rubbed his eyes. When had everything become so complicated? Here he was, nursing beer in a domestic living room with a kid passed out by his shoes, and a deadly yaught hound playing family pet. A few nasty thoughts swept the surface of his mind, bringing him back to self-loathing.

God, his daughter was dead. The little girl who he held in his arms, who laughed at daddy's experiments, who asked endless questions about the skies above. He shakily switched out the beer for the vodka, drowning the agony. She was dead because he left her. He left her and now he would never see her again...

Rick was shocked from his self depreciation by a portal opening in the wall. He was digging in his coat, feeling for the butt of his gun, when Squanchy appeared. The portal snapped shut and Squanchy's eyes shifted around, settling on Rick.

Rick met his eyes and pressed a finger to his lips, pointing to his sleeping grandson. Squanchy cocked his head and made a face, before shrugging and nodding.

Rick leaned back into the couch, tilting his head back towards the ceiling. "Fuck Squanchy, you- you're lucky I'm not trigger happy." He heard Sqaunchy pad across the floor, dropping a bag on the coffee table.

"Got what ya wanted Rick. My old climbing gear." He lifted his head up to catch Squanchy staring at Morty. Squanchy fidgeted a moment, looking like he wanted to say something else. Rick propped his feet up.

"If ya, you got something you wanna say – say it. Uh, I don't like the tension." He waved an arm, and Squanchy gave a look of defeat.

Squanchy rubbed the back of his head. "No use hidin' anything from ya Rick... but it's not something you're gonna wanna hear." Rick snorted, placing his hands behind his head as he leaned back. He heard Squanchy exhale. "I think you're in over your head Rick."

Rick closed his eyes. He did not want to have this conversation right now. "Aren't I always? I mean at best, I-I'm at least knee deep. Ya, you gotta be a little more specific."

Squanchy crossed his arms. "Ya know exactly what I'm talkin about Rick," He stated. Rick's feet immediately slid from the table and he sat upright. Squanchy jerked his head towards Morty.

"From what you've told me, Mortys aren't supposed to be..." He trailed off for a moment. "Like this. He needs someone that can take care of him; someone that'll be there for him." Rick glared, Squanchy held his gaze. "You know, deep down, that you don't handle responsibility well. That this isn't going to end well for either of you."

He glanced back at Morty. "But I'm hedging my bets on this turning out worse for the kid," Squanchy mused.

Rick snatched up his vodka and took a long swig before answering, "Ya, you know I don't like people telling me what I can and can't do Squanchy." The strong alcohol burned his throat, blurring the room and defusing his motor skills. "You know what you're starting to sound like Squanchy? Huh?" He hissed.

"A bureaucrat Squanchy, and you know how much I hate bureaucracy." Rick rolled his shoulders. "Hell, I know how much you hate bureaucracy." He whispered, suddenly aware of how loud his voice was becoming.

Squanchy's tail lashed behind him and he turned to leave. "Don't try to change the subject. This kid's squanched up so bad, you might not be able to fix him – Wait, I know that you won't be able to fix him. If you keep treating him like a shield, there won't be anything left. And if I know you like I think I know you; you'll regret it for the rest of your life." A portal opened up in the wall.

"If you really care about the last remaining member of your family, you'll either let this Morty go," He said coldly, turning his head to look back at Rick. "Or you'll have to change." Squanchy stepped through the portal and it closed quickly behind him.

Rick spent the next hour drinking an entire bottle of vodka, and miraculously staying coherent enough to finish his scanner. A distress beacon sounded out over the intercom. He sighed, and grabbed the bag from the table. Rick's mind was still buzzing pleasantly from the excessive amount of liquor, but all the beer in the world couldn't stop the dread from seeping into his brain.

That's the thing...

I don't know if I can change.

"Morty,OOUUGHH, Morty, wake up." Rick had pulled Morty up from the floor shaking his shoulders. Morty's eyes shot open, just as his grandfather dropped him back to the floor, choosing to make a circle around the couch. He sat up wearily, rubbing his eyes.

Rick made his way back to him, then crouched down to grab his leg. Morty howled as Rick drug him across the hardwood floors, across the kitchen, and into the garage. His head hit the concrete hard when Rick pulled him down the steps. The sound of frantic barks echoed across the house, followed by claws clicking on linoleum. Rick slammed the door shut before his puppy could come to the rescue.

Rick let go of his leg and stumbled over to the spaceship he'd been building over the past ten days. He popped a panel open and began working on the motor, swaying back and forth as if he were on the verge of blacking out. He took his flask from his pocket and took a pull. The garage door was open, the night sky peeking in. Light from the interior spilling into the driveway, as Rick fiddled around in the ship.

A bag was strapped to his Grandfather's back, and Morty wondered what was in it.

Rick slammed the hood shut after making some final adjustments, turning back towards his grandson. Morty stood in the doorway dark circles ringing his eyes. He beckoned him over, and pulled the passenger side door open. Rick lifted Morty up into the seat and buckled him inside, noting that the boy should probably have a booster seat. This was going to be their first outing in the ship, he hoped the kid wasn't prone to car sickness.

Rick bent down to Morty's level, nearly toppling over from the amount of alcohol he had consumed. "H-Hey Morty, gOOUUGHHuess what? We got ourselves a distress beacon! Woo yeah OOUUGHH! It's time fu, for you and your grandpa to gOOUUGHH out and get some free shiiiiit."

Morty remained silent and eyed Rick with curiosity, wondering why his grandfather was so excited. Rick looks mildly put out. "I, I'ma need ya, you to act a little excited here, Morty."

Rick shut the door and took his seat on the driver's side, the world spinning a little more than usual.

They zoomed through the vacuum of space, the ship occasionally tipping to the side and swaying precariously. Rick was much too drunk to be steering, probably even too drunk to walk straight. That never stopped him though, more often than not opting to fly drunk. Morty was pressed to the window, wonder lighting in his eyes.

It was a rare thing for Morty to show anything other than passive acceptance, fear, and anxiety. Hell, the only time he had even shown anger was when Rick refused to let the kid take the alien dog home. It was depressing to see a nine year old so broken.

He also had't spoken since they left the city. Rick gripped the steering wheel, coughing to get Morty's attention. He spun around, hands still planted on the window; anxiety tearing the previous excitement away. The ship tipped dangeously, Rick barely registering the movement before righting it. He was way too drunk.

Morty was still waiting for a response, eyes flickering across the dash and back to the sky. "So, Morty. This," He gestured to the space surrounding them. "Is space Morty. Space." He paused and watched Morty process the word, his brow furrowing from nervousness. "Ca, can you say spaaaace Morty?" He drew out the word, emphasizing each letter.

Morty blinked and turned to stare back out into the vast expanse. Nothing. "Not one for conversation are ya, you Morty?" It was a blank question that he knew he wasn't going to get a response to. "Well then, you, you'll be less of a pain in my ass in the long haul." It was an angry comment, full of spite. It must have been a fluke.  
Something that had stirred in Rick, a determination – a drive that he had not felt in years. Hope was a funny thing; a waste of time and energy for people who couldn't give in to the reality of their situation. Rick was rational, a man who valued science over feeling. But that didn't stop him from trying out different words for over an hour, trying to get his grandson to speak again.

Rick pointed out planets, galaxies, and whatever else came within sight. What would it be like to have feedback on all of his thoughts? All of the things that he did? Even the bad things. To have someone he could fight with, who could argue with him. Someone to share the universe with, the loneliness. He would give it all just to have someone to understand him... to care.

The distressed ship came into the radar after nearly two hours of travel. Morty was dosing in his seat, trying to appear like he had been paying attention to Rick's radical explanations. Rick steered them to the port of the ship that had been left halfway open, landing in the belly of the vehicle. A few thoughts skimmed the surface before he could get his flask out.

Can I really change?

I don't want to die alone.

"Co, come on Morty. We gotta get through all this shit before someone shows up," he said on an offhanded note. Morty stood a few feet from him, wringing his hands and doing his best impression of a terrified bunny. Rick crooked his finger, motioning Morty over. Morty approached hesitantly, flinching away when Rick crouched down to him.

Rick piched the bridge of his nose. Great, he was in one of his 'flight or fight' moods. He almost preferred the 'clingy' mood to this. "Lo, look Morty. We've been over this, like a thousand times in the past ten days. I, if I wanted to hurt you, you'd be hurt by now," his voice was more tired than irritated.

Rick reached into his coat, feeling around all of the different pockets, and finding the cold bottle he had tucked in there before they had left. He pulled Morty's sports bottle from his jacket, still cold from the ice he had dropped in. They had mostly dissolved over the course of two hours, making the milk watery enough to assure the mixture was not going to be too heavy on the kid's stomach.

He shoved it in Morty's hands, wrapping the boy's fingers tightly around the bottle. "Now stay still," he ordered.

Rick dropped the duffel bag from his back, quickly unzipping it and retrieving the old climbing gear from the bottom. He tugged Morty towards him and fitted Squanchy's old safety harness around him, Morty trembling and clutching the bottle the entire time. Rick had to adjust a few straps for it to grip properly, snapping the buckle in place and attaching a safety cord to the small metal loop in the front.

Rick gave an experimental tug on the makeshift leash, and it snapped taut without breaking. Deeming it durable, Rick snatched an aluminum climbing clip from the bag. He clipped the carabiner to the other end of the cord, which he promptly hooked to his belt. Morty gave him a confused look, messing with the cap of his bottle.

He huffed and crossed his arms. "Yeah, well you obviously can't be trusted not to land our asses in hot water. So until I determine that you're not gonna ru, run off like a little bitch, ya, you're stuck with me. Literally." Rick decided, yanking the cord for emphasis.

Morty had quickly lost interest halfway through the conversation, managing to unscrew the cap from his bottle. He was now taking large gulps of the liquid, and Rick rushed to grab the drink from Morty's hands. "Goddammit Morty! You're gonna make ya, yourself sick."

Morty growled when Rick took the bottle from him, jumping to try and liberate it from his grandfather. Rick screwed the cap back on – tightly - and handed it back to the kid. "Du, Don't you growl at me you little fucker," he hissed under his breath.

The interior of the ship was black, bright green lines shone along the walls. They cast a dim light on the belly of the vehicle. Shiny metal boxes were neatly stacked along the walls, pointing to this abandoned ship being a cargo carrier. It must have broken down or run out of fuel before reaching it's destination.

It was rather dark, and Rick listened closely while he opened container after container. There was indeed, some 'good shit ' lined up in the boxes. Power cells, weapons, parts that could be the basis of a myriad of new inventions. Rick filled his duffel bag with various items, mentally cataloging what different things he intended to make with them.

The thought of new scientific breakthroughs made him somewhat giddy. Rick anticipated the high that he would get from expanding his knowledge. Creating something new from scratch always fed his intellectual needs. What he did not look forward to, was the crash that would inevitably come after he completed these new inventions.

It always came when he hit a road block or finished up whatever kept his mind off of the futility of his work. The meaninglessness of it all. He took a pull from his flask, unintentionally moving farther into the bowels of the ship. Morty kept up, fearing that if he slowed down, Rick would drag him along. They crossed into another holding bay, and Rick pointed out some escape pods, explaining their purpose.

"See those Morty. Those are escape pods," he gestured to an empty slot. "They probably launched out on that one when they realized that the ship was fucked. Leavin us all this free shit, ripe for the picking." Morty moved to a row of yellow levers, and Rick yanked him back by the cord.

"Don't touch Morty. Tho, those'll launch the pods. Don't wanna draw any attention to ourselves." Rick marched up some stairs, and Morty scrambled to keep pace with his long strides.

Rick was on his knees, searching through another box of materials, when he felt Morty tug on his sleeve. He rolled his eyes and glanced over at Morty, his eyes zoning in on a metal crescent in the boy's hands. A universal holo-map. Not valuable in the least. Morty held it out to him, and Rick decided to humor him.

Taking the device from Morty's hands, he popped the back and stared into the wiring. A blue wire was out of place, all bendy and disconnected from it's circuit board. It was an easy fix, but he didn't really care enough to waste his time repairing it. Wasn't worth his valuable time. He threw the device back over his shoulder, and it bounced across the floor with metallic clangs.

Morty squeaked, and rushed to pick up the discarded holo-map. Rick felt the cord tug at his belt as Morty strained to reach his find. He guessed that it fell within Morty's radius, because the straining abruptly ceased after a few moments. Rick twisted his legs, adjusting himself to a comfortable sitting position. Morty did not bring the device back to Rick, in fear it would be tossed away again.

Minutes passed in silence, other than the rhythmic sounds of the ships air filtering and Rick digging around in the containers. Rick was just standing up, when a bright blue light flared behind him. He spun, expecting an ambush.

Rick's eyes widened only a fraction, barely noticeable, his hands finding their way into his pockets. The holo-map was functioning, projecting a planet swallowed by stars. Morty stood staring into the hologram, a smile plastered on his face and a screwdriver held loosely in one hand. Rick walked up to stand beside him, his mind whirring with hidden elation.

His grandson had fixed an alien machine, – a machine he had never seen before – on his first try. Morty looked up at Rick, pure happiness evident on his features. His eyes begged for approval, for praise. Practically starving for it. Rick could have given it to him, but he wasn't that kind of person. Instead he ran his hand through Morty's hair, ruffling it. It was more than enough for Morty, who was currently beaming from the accomplishment.

Rick felt a sudden thickness in his throat, making it hard to swallow. He quickly redirected the mood, tearing the screwdriver from Morty's hand and grumbling to himself. "Damned pickpocket." He pointed to Morty with the screwdriver. "Don't fuck with my shit Morty," Rick cursed.

The entire ship rocked. "Shit," Rick exclaimed, his hand encircling Morty's wrist. "Fuck Morty! I, it's the Galactic Federation! I knew it, I fucking knew that this had to be one of their cargo units."

Rick quickly strapped hid duffel bag to his body, pulling Morty behind him as he ran. He ducked behind a doorway, spotting the first of the bug-like soldiers sent to commandeer the vessel. Rick lifted Morty off of the floor, slamming a hand over his mouth. The aliens passed by searching the hold. He prayed to whatever God he could think of, that they did not find his ship.

Rick felt Morty's body spasm from the physical contact, clutching the boy even closer to his chest. The aliens passed by without incidents, and Rick slid passed the doorway, guiding Morty with the makeshift leash. Rick berated himself as they stalked towards the opening where he had parked the ship.

He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up real bad. Great way to prove your responsible, RIGHT after Squanchy's conversation. Off the bat he had gotten blackout drunk, then in his desperate attempt to escape reality, he'd forgotten to charge his portal gun, and finally – the icing on the cake – he'd left his ship unattended to sift through junk he didn't really need. All to avoid the thought that Morty was better off without him. Squanchy was right, Rick Sanchez could never change.

They moved pass a few more guards, Morty picking up on the severity of the situation. Morty was terrified, clinging to him. Seeing his fearless grandfather scared had nearly petrified him. Rounding another corner, Rick spotted the ship. It hadn't been found yet.

Rick sprinted towards the ship, just a few meters between them, when his hips were pulled back violently. He toppled face first into the unforgiving floor, lifting himself up with his hands. Morty was coughing brokenly, gasping for air on the ground behind him. Shit! He had forgotten the kid was tethered to him.

"Stop, or we will shoot!" The police's voices rose, the sound of feet rushing to their location deafening.

Morty jumped up as two officers entered the brig. He stared wide eyed at the creatures, when a laser mowed the first down. His chest exploded, black blood splattering Morty. The boy became paralyzed with terror. He looked down at the body, blood pooling at his red rain boots.

Tears lazily dripped down his cheeks, as he turned to face his grandfather with horrified realization. Rick lowered his laser gun, and time stopped. "Mm, Morty, uh, I didn't mean for you to see-" He was cut off by Morty closing the distance between them and throwing himself around his grandfather's midsection, sobbing.

There was no time to comfort him now. The second alien shot and them, and Rick returned fire. Rick curled over Morty's body, and rolled them behind a pillar. The alien took cover behind Rick's ship, reaching for his radio to call backup. Rick had leaned past the barrier, aiming his gun at the officer; when he felt his belt shift, the light weight of the cord missing.

He reared back behind the pillar, his fingers grasping empty air as Morty bolted into the crossfire. "Morty! No!"

Morty ran faster than he had ever run, his eyes locked on the yellow levers on the far side of the brig. Rick's voice echoed through his head, and he reached up to rub some of the alien blood off of his face. 'See those Morty. Those are escape pods,'. A red beam nearly grazed his arm, heat flaring up along his skin.

'Don't touch Morty. Tho, those'll launch the pods. Don't wanna draw any attention to ourselves.' The leash whipped behind him like a tail, the metal clip clattering along the metal floor. Drawing attention. That was what he was counting on. Morty heard the splattering of the alien's head being obliterated before he even saw it.

It didn't stop him, he came up on a lever, using both shaky arms to force it down.

The alien's body collapsed on the ground with a sickening splat. Rick rubbed the sweat from his brow, hearing dozens of footfalls as the brigade made way to their location. "I think I heard something over there!" Rick's heart thudded against his ribs.

Suddenly, the ship trembled as an escape pod shot from the cargo bay, air depressurizing. "They're getting away! Back to the ships!" Rick let out a panicked breath, sliding down the pillar and on to his ass. He was shaking from the adrenaline, when he turned his head to look over to the opposite wall. Morty stood there, his whole body wracking with spasms. His hands gripping an escape lever like a lifeline, legs buckling.

He was absolutely petrified. Another wonderful experience to add to his nightmares. Rick stood, downing the contents of his flask, cause to hell if he needed to be sober right now. He was too stunned to be angry as he walked across the platform. It dawned on him, and he paused.

Morty had knew that there were more than two of them on the ship. After the first shot Morty had hugged him – not from fear, because if he was truly abhorred by Rick's actions, he would have logically run away from the murderer. He had hugged him to unhook the clip from Rick's belt, so that he could launch the escape pod, to lure them away from their location.

Rick pried Morty's fingers from the lever, and he began to sob loudly, the gravity of the events finally crashing down on him. A shiny piece of metal stuck out from Morty's pocket, and Rick took a double take. Ah, the holo-map. He lifted Morty up and the boy immediately wrapped his arms around Rick's neck, crying into his shirt.

Rick only stopped to throw the duffel bag in the back seat, cradling Morty in his lap the entire way home. He tried to console him with soothing nonsense, even going as far to hum a few of his old songs. Morty eventually fell asleep, never letting go of Rick's neck.

He was in over his head.

It would be for the best to let Morty go.

But he wouldn't, because he was a selfish bastard.

Because he was too scared of being alone...

Morty was scared of being alone too. He swore to himself that he would never, ever let Rick leave him. He knew it was selfish; that he was dirty for thinking this way, but he wanted to be loved. He pressed deeper into the warmth, the ship rocking under them. Even if Rick was better off without him.

Morty fell asleep to the vibrations thrumming in Rick's chest, as he hummed an old tune of happier days gone by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anonymous reader from Tumblr asked for fic recommendations. My favorite fics include Mystery Twins by Lizzy322, Its a Gravity Falls fic, but I highly recommend it. Takes One to Know One by Foxieglove, an X-men fic that is unfortunately abandoned. And First for Everything by Kitty9, a Rick and Morty fic. My all time favorite is Mystery Twins though, If you really like this story I urge you to try it. The author has a writing style extremely similar to mine, and the story is a fluffy mess about two abused kids finding a home with two awkward old men. More dialogue than I use though, but I luvz the dialogue.
> 
> Speaking of fics, Shadow the strange weasel wrote a spin-off of my story! Go check it out! It's called Agent C-124. If anyone else wants to write spin-offs, feel free to do so! Just send me the link so I can squeal happily to myself ;)
> 
> Please send me reviews and ideas! It keeps me going! I read through all of them and reply to any questions or suggestions.


	11. TEASER

So. Its been a long time. I'm so sorry for my hiatus, but my old computer died taking the new chapter with it. After that, it was a deep spiral into severe depression. I don't have much confidence in my writing skills, and I have a lot of insecurity. I'm dropping this teaser to see if I should still continue the story. I have most of this chapter written, I just really need some support. I hope that everyone can understand this. Please write a cool review if you think I should still continue, because this is my last ditch effort. I can't continue without knowing that I'm not horrible.

To my fans,

from PaigeK9

0000

The ship came to a shaky stop in the parking lot, directly under a bright street lamp. It was late, an hour or so before the sun would break. Rick cut the vehicle's ignition, shifting Morty a bit in the process. He didn't even stir at the movement.

The kid was out like a light, exhausted from the two demanding adventures in less than twenty-four hours. Rick carefully dislodged Morty from his lap, settling him down in the passenger seat. Morty immediately curled into a tight ball, still deep in sleep. Splatters of black alien blood stained the boy's light red shirt, had pooled at the soles of his boots, and a few droplets still painted his face indefinitely.

He'd fucked up really bad tonight; to imply anything less would be a gross understatement. Rick shoved the door of his ship open, feeling the cool air of the summer night wash away the stench of booze. At least they made it back to Earth in one piece. Rick left the door open, staring in at the unconscious form of his grandson.

He fished around in his pockets for his flask, still filled with a strong alien alcohol. Rick took a long pull, pushing back the inevitable hangover. Morty began to stir in his sleep, occasionally twitching and whimpering. It was pathetic. Rick took one more swig, capping his flask and tucking it into the glove box, along with his portal gun, screwdriver, and laser pistol.

Rick massaged his eyes, sliding his lab coat from his shoulders in one fluid movement. He leaned over the driver's seat, draping the coat over his grandson's unconscious form. Morty shivered at the sudden warmth, before sighing and drifting back into a dreamless sleep. Morty looked so small like this, a tiny bundle in the sea of white. It was sometimes hard to remember that he was still a little kid. Sure, he was nine, but for all purposes, Morty was reduced to the size and mental capacity of a six-year old.

Rick got out clicking the ship door shut quietly, careful not to wake Morty. He closed his eyes, hand still on the latch, thoughts taking over. Jesus, what is happening to me? The great Rick Sanchez, known across countless planets and dimensions, intergalactic criminal, mass murderer, destroyer and creator of multiple worlds, genius, dimension hopper, and wanted by the Galactic Federation as a terrorist. He was becoming… domestic. The word echoed through his head with a thick, unpleasant bitterness.


	12. UPDATE

So, it’s been a while people…

I just want to thank all my followers for the amazing support I’ve been given throughout my writing career. Things have been rough for me as of late, and I feel really directionless in my life. I’m really sorry for the unexpected hiatus, as I tend to write long ass chapters and burn myself out.

College has been hell, and I’m finishing finals this week. Hopefully I’ll be back soon, but no promises.

My depression has been really hard to deal with and has stunted me as a writer the past few weeks. 

SO, on to the writing update! (For anyone who cares)

I want to apologize in advance to anyone who has sent in writing requests, because I’m canceling my oneshot series. I’m really sorry, but I just can’t deal with that in top of my depression right now…

On This is All There is - the hiatus continues while I sort things out, but the fic will not be abandoned. I already have the entire fic planned out and it should stretch to twenty or so chapters.

AND FINALLY, FOR ANYONE WHO HAS STUCK AROUND FROM THE BEGINNING!

(Ahem….)

I am currently working on the rewrite of the insanely popular Iridescent!

Yup. Its gonna be gooooooooooooooood.

Welp, that’s about it on my end. I would really appreciate if some people could talk to me or something. Drop a comment; poll on whether or not you actually want a continuation of Iridescent.

PaigeK9 signing out!

**Author's Note:**

> Oops cliffy. Review if you want more!


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